by Amy Plum
She waits, thinking before she answers. “Miles, I will go with you to see your father if you go first with me to find my parents. I can’t find them without you.”
“Why? What do I have to do with it? Did I say that while I was fortune-telling?” I can’t help a note of bitterness from creeping into my words.
“No,” she says, and her mouth quirks up in a smile. “What would you say if I told you it was revealed to me by some hundred-year-old possum bones?”
“I’d say it sounds just like you. And that’s fine: I’m ready to accept anything you tell me, as long as you don’t do anything to me without my knowledge. And as long as you don’t steal my car.”
Her grin is huge until she reins it in, opting for a closed-lipped smile. She holds out her hand.
“And that would be my cue,” comes a voice from the truck. A woman with a mane of red curly hair steps out of the cab and walks toward us. “I’m Tallie,” she says.
“Miles,” I respond, and she takes the hand that Juneau’s just let go of and shakes it heartily.
“Enchanted,” she says, and turns to Juneau. “So you’re good?” she asks, and something passes between them that tells me they’ve done some major talking over the last few days. Juneau nods at her. “Thanks for everything,” she says.
Tallie hands Juneau her pack. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me,” she says. “Just make sure you keep it a secret.”
Juneau smiles. “Of course.”
They hug briefly, and Tallie heads back to the pickup and drives off into the night. Juneau and I stand there, neither knowing what to say.
“You look . . . different,” I say.
She looks down. “These are Tallie’s clothes. She forced me to wear them.”
“She forced you?”
“She hid my boy clothes and said I could either wear hers or go naked,” Juneau says, looking embarrassed.
It’s not like she’s wearing a dress. She just has on a pair of black jeans and a red V-neck shirt. But for once they actually fit. Juneau’s not skinny, and you wouldn’t exactly say muscular. But something in between. She’s so much shorter than me that I could easily pick her up. Of course, I refrain since I don’t feel like being punched.
“You look nice,” I say.
She grins. “You don’t look bad yourself,” she says, and her eyes stray to the fire I was building, “but that’s the worst-looking campfire I’ve ever seen.” I laugh and the tension is broken. Juneau goes over to rearrange the kindling while the bird flies over to the tent and makes himself at home.
Something is nagging at the edge of my consciousness. It’s a good feeling, but I can’t quite place it. And then suddenly I do. It’s a feeling of being where I’m supposed to be. A feeling of knowing that I’m in the right place at the right time. With the right person.
I watch Juneau light the fire, and the flames shine through her hair. It looks so soft that I want to go touch it. Run my fingers through the short tufts, that for once seem like she’s done something to them besides running a towel over her head. Tallie must have insisted on doing her hair as well.
“Do you want something to eat?” I ask.
“No, Tallie and I ate in the truck,” she responds.
“So how did you find me? Messenger raven?” Though I’m joking, I realize that until this moment, I hadn’t questioned the fact that this girl found me in the middle of nowhere. Probably because she took it for granted—it just seemed natural to her that (1) I was in Salt Lake City waiting for her, and (2) she could locate a lone boy in the middle of the mountains.
“We’re going to need to talk about that, Miles,” she says, sitting down next to the fire and rifling through her pack. “I know you don’t believe anything I have to say about the Yara, Reading, Conjuring, and all that, but—”
I hold my hands up. “Listen, I think it’s better if we avoid that whole subject.”
She doesn’t look at me. Just puts her face in her hands and squeezes her temples. “Okay,” she says finally. “What do you want to talk about then?”
“You were limping. Did you get hurt?” I ask.
She nods. “Whit and his men found me at the gas station—the place I left your car, which I’m glad to see that you found.”
I nod. I’m not even ready to talk about her grand theft auto adventure.
She continues. “I had to run off. Stepped in a hole in the ground and hurt my ankle.”
“And how’d you find . . . what’s her name, Tallie?”
Juneau nods. “Tallie actually found me. She has a house in the mountains, and I stayed there for the last couple of days.”
“How about the search for your parents?” I ask. “Do you know what you want to do next?”
“Well, I have a clue. Something else you told me when I Read you—I mean . . . when you were my oracle.”
I let my breath out all at once and feel tired.
“What?” Juneau insists, and there’s a challenge in her narrowed eyes.
“Maybe it would be better if we just made a plan. Besides the ‘Readings,’ do you have any solid indications of where your people could be? I mean, for example, is there a place they could have gone if they needed to leave your village urgently? Not suggesting that they would leave you on purpose, or anything.”
But she sees in my eyes that that’s exactly what I’m suggesting, and her face flushes pink. “Like I told you, they were kidnapped by men in helicopters,” she says, her voice low.
“But Juneau,” I say, “you heard a helicopter and found your clan missing. I think you should be open to other possibilities.”
She stands, and I can see in the light of the fire that she is trembling. “Miles, we are not going to be able to do this if you don’t believe me.”
I stay seated. “Juneau, I can’t believe you. I’m sorry, but what you are talking about is magic. And magic is not real. And there’s no way you’re going to convince me otherwise unless you show me something I can see with my own eyes.”
Her face is scarlet, her hands squeezed into angry fists. “I broke your phone, you know,” she says, and her look is menacing. “You saw me do that.”
“iPhones break all the time. So that has a rational explanation.”
“What about Poe?” she asks.
“What about him? He’s probably been fed by humans before and is so lazy he prefers following you around so he doesn’t have to catch his own food.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she says. “I used him to find you just now. I showed him an image of you in my mind and asked the Yara to have him locate you.”
“Okay, that’s weird, but I’m sure it can be explained.” I feel a twinge of guilt for forcing her to this point, but it has to be done. She has to accept reality.
“Don’t ask me to prove things to you now. I’ve just begun to work it all out in my mind.” She looks like it cost her every ounce of pride she possesses to admit that to me.
“You claim you were able to conjure Poe into finding me,” I say.
“That was really difficult. It took all afternoon.”
I shrug, as if to say, See? “Well, go ahead. Do something.” I feel like a shit for insisting, but I stand my ground.
Her eyes widen in dismay, and she gives me a look like the one thing in the world she wants to do is slap the smug smile right off my face. Turning, she limps over to her bag, digs around in it, pulls out the rabbit feet, holds them in her hand, and closes her eyes. She’s concentrating so hard that she looks like she’s about to explode.
I wait. “Is something supposed to be happening?” I ask after a moment.
Her eyes fly open, and I know that if she could shoot a laser at me out of her starburst thingy, she’d be doing it right now. “It’s probably the rabbits’ feet,” I hear myself saying, though I know I should keep my mouth shut. “Maybe the magic in them doesn’t travel well.”
She glowers at me, pure unadulterated hatred blazing her eyes, and then she pitches
the rabbit feet forcefully into the fire, where they ignite in a puff of blue flame.
“Holy crap!” I say as she advances toward me, arms folded across her chest. “I didn’t mean you had to go all Firestarter and destroy your charm. I was just suggesting . . .”
My voice trails off as I begin to scramble backward. Forget the conciliatory Juneau of ten minutes ago, ready to make a deal so I’ll keep driving her. This girl is an irate goddess. A Fury. Five foot five inches, and she’s going to rip my head off.
“I’m sorry!” I blurt out, because I am—for all sorts of reasons. Sorry I tried to impress my dad by finding her. Sorry I’ve been making fun of a brainwashed girl for a delusion she can’t help. Sorry I egged her on just to make my point. “Honest, Juneau, I’m so sor—,” I begin to repeat, but the words freeze on my lips.
Because Juneau has come to a stop three feet away from me. She gazes down at me, arms loose, fingertips grazing her thighs. And disappears.
It takes me about three seconds flat to throw my things together, toss them in the car, and leap behind the steering wheel. I turn the key in the ignition, throw the gear into reverse, and then . . . the car stalls with a wheezing cough of the motor. Juneau appears, illuminated like a slasher-film killer in the harsh glare of the headlights. One finger rests on the car hood and the other on her waist, as she regards me with an icy glare.
I try to start the car again. Nothing. Juneau walks over to the passenger side, opens the door, gets in, and slams the door behind her. “Believe me now?” she says. She peers out at the bird, who flaps anxiously around like it’s afraid we’re going to leave him.
“Now you’ve fried my car” is all I can say. I’m in shock. The door handle is poking my back, and I realize that I’ve backed as far away from her as I can.
“You were leaving me,” she retorts, meeting my eyes. She looks angry. Hurt. But there’s something else there that wasn’t there before. Something hard and cold that runs a hot needle of fear through my chest.
I break our gaze and breathe deeply. “You freaking disappeared,” I say.
“Did it scare you?” she asks, a flicker of curiosity in her tone.
“Yes, it scared me,” I admit. “You could have warned me.”
“I’ve been telling you the truth this whole time,” she says bitterly.
“Yeah, well, would you believe me if I told you I could fly? Or, I don’t know . . . turn blue when I eat blueberries?” Fear has pumped my voice up an octave, and I can feel myself sweating.
Juneau looks at me strangely for a moment and then bursts out laughing. The scary gleam in her eye is gone, and I’m so relieved I put my head down on the steering wheel and try to calm the drum-machine staccato of my heart.
Finally I look up and see her sitting with her head leaned back against the headrest and eyes closed. “You did it,” I say in awe. “You did magic.”
“Conjured,” she corrects me.
“Whatever.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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49
JUNEAU
I SIT DOWN IN FRONT OF THE FIRE, SUDDENLY exhausted. I can barely believe it. I Conjured and did it without an amulet. And it didn’t feel anything like the Reading and Conjuring I’ve done before.
I have always experienced a tingling sensation as I connected with the Yara. The adults who lived in a world of electricity before the war—before they secluded themselves from society—described the sensation of the Yara connection as feeling like a tiny electrical shock.
But when I Conjured a physical metamorphosis without use of the rabbit feet, I wasn’t just connecting to the Yara. I wasn’t merely tuning into the wavelength of all living things. I plugged myself directly in. Melded with it. I felt like every molecule of my being merged with the energy of the universe. This was no tiny shock. It was more like a lightning bolt.
I know I’ve finally done something right. Something true. And even though I have only done one Conjuring unaided by an amulet, I’m suddenly sure that my theory was right: all the stones, powders, and herbs Whit taught me to use are truly just props. Crutches. Like a stepladder to get to a height that I just leapt to without assistance.
I hear the car door shut and footsteps walk in my direction. Miles stands near me—but not too near—and lowers himself to sit facing the fire.
“I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to believe me.”
He nods and wraps his arms around himself. After a moment he says, “So all those other things you told me about . . .”
“Everything I’ve told you has been true,” I say. “When Frankie told me I had to be honest with you, I took that seriously. Which is why I’m here. You are the one who has to take me far.”
Miles nods again and watches the fire. “What would happen if you tried on your own?” he asks, not looking at me.
“I’m guessing I probably wouldn’t get the next sign that I need,” I say. “Or I would make a vital mistake.”
He tips his head and looks at me out of the corners of his eyes. There’s something about his expression that tugs inside me. He looks . . . not scared but vulnerable. I realize that he prefers to be in control of the situation, and now I’ve put him in a position where he has no control at all. And no idea what to expect.
“Miles, it’s not like I have magical powers or anything. I’m just more skilled than the rest of my clan.”
He nods, pensive. “Okay, new subject: how are we going to go anywhere if the car is fried?”
“I think I can reverse it in the morning.”
He looks back toward the fire. This conversation is difficult for him, I can tell. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and turns to look at me. “So what’s the next step?”
“It’s another prophecy you gave me. I haven’t figured it out yet.” I reach out to take his hand, but he pulls it away.
“Sorry. I’m too weirded out.”
“So it was better when you thought I was insane?”
“Almost. Because at least there’s an explanation for that. I thought you were delusional when you said you used me as your oracle. Did I really tell you things that turned out to be true?”
I nod. “At least I think so,” I say. “Otherwise we’re in the wrong place to figure out the next prophecy. And it wasn’t exactly you who told me. You were just my channel to nature’s collective unconscious.”
“Please don’t say that again,” he says, eyebrows knit in concern. “Thinking of myself as a channel to anything is extremely freaky.”
I stop myself from trying to touch him again. I want to comfort him. To tell him it’s no big deal. But that would be wrong. It is a really big deal to him. And I need to give him time to process it. To give him space.
“I’m going to go to bed,” I say. He glances up at me, and I read the look on his face like it’s in flashing neon. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to touch you,” I say. “I won’t ever do anything to you again . . . without your consent.”
He nods and looks back at the fire.
I turn away from him, exhale, and walk toward the tent. I hope I won’t need to.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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50
MILES
I CRAWL INTO MY CORNER OF THE TENT, although I’m sure I won’t sleep tonight. I lie on my side and watch Juneau. She has the crossbow within hand’s reach and sleeps on her side, curled in toward it. She looks like a totally normal girl, but she is anything but normal.
She says it’s not magic. Right, I think, my chest constricting with fear as I remember the look on her face the second she disappeared. Not magic? Bullshit.
Suddenly, and randomly, I have this flashback to history class, when we learned a
bout how afraid the Native Americans were when they saw the European explorers’ rifles for the first time, calling them magical “fire sticks.” Right now I feel like them: just because I don’t understand the Yara doesn’t mean it can’t have a logical explanation. If I ever understand the mechanics of what she’s doing, maybe I’ll be able to accept it as merely a tool, the way she seems to.
It is in pondering these things that sleep tugs me like a current and pulls me under.
I awake to an empty tent. Pushing the flap outward, I see Juneau sitting with her back toward me. In her lifted hand she holds a small rock. And just below it is an egg-sized stone, which is floating in midair about a foot off the ground. Though I feel like retreating—closing the flap and hiding out in the tent—I push through and stand.
Hearing me, Juneau turns. “Good morning,” she says, and then looks back to her floating rock as if it is nothing out of the ordinary. It slowly lowers until it’s an inch off the ground, and then drops the rest of the distance with a soft thud.
I look around at the campsite. Something is missing, and for a moment I don’t know what it is. “The bird,” I say finally. “Where’s Poe?”
“Gone,” she says. “He was gone when I got up at dawn and hasn’t come back.”
“Do you think he went to Whit?” I ask.
“Either that or he got bored hanging around with us,” she replies, but the way she presses her lips together shows she doesn’t believe he would voluntarily leave.
I lower myself to sit near her by the burned-out campfire. “So what’s the deal with the levitating rocks?”
“Practice,” she says.
“Why? Seems like after last night’s disappearing act, you definitely have your powers back.”
“They aren’t powers,” Juneau insists. “Reading is making my will known to the Yara in order to get an answer. Conjuring is actually affecting the nature of something: making Poe want to find you, camouflaging myself, breaking your phone. But before leaving Alaska, I had barely done any Conjuring. So I’m experimenting.”
