by Sarah Tobias
Waves of voices crashed into my ears, sounds from clusters of people waving and falling as I passed, amplifying, clogging, then receding.
“Awesome, I see apple cider!” Macy pointed to the left, drawing my scattered attention. She clutched my arm, bouncing up and down. “You know what that means, right?”
I gulped down the bile building up in my throat. “No, what?”
“Oh, please.” Macy smacked my shoulder playfully. “This signals the time of year when you come alive. Happy Emily’s three favorite things about October are as follows.” Macy began counting off her fingers. “Fall leaf colors, the ability to binge-watch Hocus Pocus whenever you want, and most especially, the season of your favorite drink in the world. Apple cider.”
I swallowed. “Macy, if this were any other weekend, I’d be excited, but the spiced cinnamon smell…”
“Wait, are you hungover, too?”
“No. I worked my entire shift last night. I only saw you when you showed up at my front door at three in the morning.”
Macy ignored the last part. “So why are you looking so green?”
A fragile smile graced my face. “Mace, sometimes people are sick for reasons other than alcohol poisoning.”
“Fine. Then at least let me put those titillating fall facts in your online dating profile.”
I laughed. “I don’t have any of those apps.”
“That you know of. Hang back,” Macy said, eyeing the growing crowd around the apple cider stand and preparing her elbows for the onslaught. “I’m gonna go grab me a free sample.”
Macy dove in before I could say anything else, snaking through the crowd like a New York City pro as she made her way to the front of the line. I couldn’t disappoint her, so I stayed where I was despite my heaving stomach, my foot tapping anxiously.
Macy returned empty-handed.
“Weird. The vendor just told me they’d made a bad batch and couldn’t sell any more. They’re closing for the day.”
“Wow, that is strange.”
My stomach sank. Did my potential mind-altering capabilities have something to do with the vendor’s sudden decision to close up shop? But I wasn’t even looking in his direction. Or making any eye contact…
I meandered beside Macy for the rest of the morning, pretending to be interested in the fruit stands and feigning amusement when Macy said she wanted to sweeten up the chocolate guy. I was too distracted, too unsure of how I influenced the vendor in the first place, never mind how I should moderate it so I didn’t unintentionally affect anyone else at the market.
We finished the rest of our perusing, mostly because of my increased speed at passing the stands so we could leave. If Macy found it odd, she didn’t comment and chatted as if I wasn’t able to compel her to clamber up on a vendor's stand and demand everyone bow to her as Princess Bugaboo.
Once Macy and I said our goodbyes and I was home, the pent up energy I'd tempered rose to the forefront. I couldn’t stay in this apartment for the rest of the day.
I had the acute need for more fresh air and opening my two meager windows wasn’t cutting it. I practically fell out of my apartment, ran down the five flights and burst into the cool afternoon. I breathed in, uncaring that the oxygen contained the never-ending smog and dust of the city. I stood still for a moment outside my building, heedless of the people having to navigate around me as I lifted my face to the wind’s caress. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. Food wouldn’t do any good.
To burn off some energy, I took to the streets, and the East Village was the perfect place. The blocks were eclectic, with local art shops, famous restaurants and trendy clothing stores all known to neighbor one another. Sunday afternoons did not differ from any other in New York City; it was still full of people, especially on a clear fall day like this one.
My cheeks chilled with the breeze as I passed crowded restaurants and tiny bodegas, all emitting some stomach-turning food scent. I picked up the pace, enjoying the wind as it also kicked up, lifting scattered trash and debris from the sidewalks I dodged with ease.
Nearing the end of the block, I almost ran into a woman exhaustedly pushing a stroller and trying to wrangle a toddler on the loose at the same time. She caught her escapee in the knick of time before he ran out onto the street, scolding him as she wrestled him back into the stroller.
At the intersection, she bent down, clipping the child in. She was young, probably no older than me, her blonde hair scraped back into a haphazard ponytail that she’d probably been tying and re-tightening all day. Her face was flushed and tired, her cheeks rouged more from exertion than the outside temperature.
I approached with a burst of determination. Eye contact. I must make eye contact.
She was still tightening the straps of the stroller on the toddler, making sure he’d be stuck for the long haul, and didn’t notice me at first.
I said to her, “Exhausting, isn’t it?”
She stiffened with wariness, then relaxed when she glanced up and saw I was a regular girl, someone just like her.
“You’re telling me,” she commiserated. “The ruckus a five-year-old can kick up, even strapped into a buggy.”
She had an accent. British. And to prove her point, the toddler let out a good screech, his face blotchy and sweaty as he fought against his restraints.
“I nannied one just like that once,” I lied, beaming at the child fondly. His screams were bursting my eardrums. His fists looked like they wanted to ram into my face.
“Shh,” I said, my lips warming with the word.
He shushed.
“Wow.” The woman regarded me quizzically. “You must be the Rascal Whisperer.”
I smiled.
She continued, “This little man is a handful, but honestly, he’s not all bad.” As she looked down at him, I could tell her fondness was real, despite his fingers reaching to dig out her eyeballs. “Are you still nannying, then?”
“Uh, no,” I said. The light changed, and she readied to cross the street. I added quickly, “I’m looking for a new family. Do you have any agencies I can go to?”
I took advantage the instant she turned to answer, meeting her eyes and calling upon the little flame at the back of my head.
“Don't cross. Go into the ice cream shop behind us and buy the rascal a cone.”
Her pupils dilated and her expression went blank, her lower lip drooping.
“All right then,” she said, though her voice was noticeably flat.
She turned the stroller stiffly, the toddler suddenly still, seeming to sense the change in his nanny. That, or he heard me say he was getting ice cream.
I blinked, breaking our connection, curious to see if she’d still go into the ice cream shop without my continued contact.
The nanny smiled politely, then continued over to the shop, the toddler gurgling happily. A brief spurt of guilt hit me over the fact I would give that little terror a massive sugar high, but it was secondary compared to the major revelation I was having.
“Well, I’ll be,” I said.
This made it the fourth time I’d influenced someone for certain, if I counted Rob, who may not be real anymore. I’d searched every online channel I could find, and there was no trace of him. But I had to believe he existed. My memories contained too much detail for it to be otherwise … even if I was the only one who recalled who he was.
As I crossed 3rd Avenue, a fresh breeze hit and my fingers numb with the cold. I took comfort in it. These tangible feelings meant I wasn’t hallucinating. This was all happening, and it was within my control.
Try again, a tiny voice whispered inside me. I didn’t have to be told twice.
Within minutes, I ran into my next subject. It was a guy a little older. He sat on a bench under the cover of a tree, facing the used bookstore that he must have just come out of, since he was reading a well-worn book, his nose almost touching the pages as he fanned through them. A mop of disheveled brown hair peeked over the spine of the book.
/> “Excuse me,” I said as I stepped close.
He answered without looking up. “Uh-huh. How about I not help you?”
I frowned, but this guy’s rudeness wasn’t a deterrent. It was basic NYC etiquette to be a jerk to strangers on the street. I said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did,” he responded, but he must be reading an amazing paragraph of text, because he didn’t glance up.
My frown deepened. He’d lowered his book enough for me to notice he sported black-framed glasses, but that was about it.
Which unintentionally added to my experiment. Now I wanted to see if glasses could act as a barrier to my otherworldly … skill.
I tried again. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“None of your beeswax,” he said, crossing his legs and turning a page.
“Seriously?” I almost, almost stomped my foot. “I was just getting good at this!”
To my surprise, he looked up, out of curiosity, or, more likely, extreme annoyance. But I immediately recovered, unwilling to miss my chance, and pulled at the flame in my head.
His eyes widened. “What the—”
He sprang up and his book hit my face with a thunk.
“Are you out of your mind?” he asked.
I hunched over, cupping my nose. “That hurt!” I yelled. “Why’d you do that? I was just asking you a question!”
“Oh, no you did not.”
He ambled closer, peering at me through my blinders of pain, and I hoped it was to apologize. The spine of the book had hit me right in the nose.
“You’ve got to be insane,” he hissed, bending to my level. “You can’t be doing that in such a public place. And with the Tryne on the loose, no less!”
I pulled upright slowly, still holding my face. My nasally voice asked, “What are you talking about?”
He mumbled something unflattering as he straightened. The top of my head reached his nose, so I tipped my chin up. Maybe that was a good thing. There was too much throbbing to tell if I was bleeding.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
I gave up the act. He knew something I didn’t. “How—how did you know what I was doing?”
His brows jumped. “You’ve really got to be kidding me. You’re a baby? I’m not dealing with any newborn. If the Hunter gets you, it’s your own Sect’s fault for letting you out way too early. Try asking the Hunter for mercy before you cease to exist. Nice knowing you, babycakes.”
The jerk didn’t wait for my reply and strode away in the opposite direction.
I called out, “Wait! You just assaulted me! The least you can do is expand on what you just said. I don’t know what’s going on…” I trailed off, my stomach clenching as I watched him go.
“Talk to a member of your Sect!” He replied over his shoulder. “I ain’t dealing with this. I can barely survive on my own.”
I shook my head, totally and utterly lost.
“At least tell me your name!” was all I could muster. His words sounded like they were from the English language, but the way he strung them together was gibberish.
“Derek,” he surprised me by answering, before turning a corner. “That’s what this shell’s name is anyway, and because of your stupidity, I probably won’t have it much longer.”
Well, at least he gave me words to grasp onto. Hunter. Sect. Shell. Tryne.
I pulled my hand from my face to shout a reply, as much as I could with a clogged, swollen nose. “So, you’re saying I’m not alone in this!”
There was no answer. Once his form disappeared, I smiled anyway, even though it hurt.
Because now I was rest assured that at least one other person in this world existed who was just as crazy as me.
Chapter 10
I woke up the next morning with no residual dreams or worrisome hauntings in my head.
But, after my shower, I ran a comb through my wet hair and sulked when it tangled. A glance at my bathroom mirror told me my regular, pale skin was back, too. Not one sparkle glimmered in my dark blue eyes, either, not even after two cups of strong, black coffee.
There was a sense of relief, even though I hated my frizz with a passion and couldn’t help but enjoy my inexplicable transformation over the weekend.
I tossed my hair up in a bun and dressed in a simple white tee and jeans, donning my wool jacket on the way out. At the street corner, I stopped at my usual bodega, and while Rashid rang up the order, I met his eye and said, “You want to give me a toasted bagel on the house.”
Rashid paused with his finger on the cashbox button. “Huh?”
I squinted harder, waiting for the little flame to burn at the back of my mind.
“Are you all right, Emily?” Rashid asked. “Big weekend or something?”
“Just the usual stuff,” I replied through clenched teeth. Come on, come on …. work!
Rashid cocked a brow. “You sure? You seem—”
There. A spark, almost like static electricity cascading across my tongue. “You’re giving me this bagel for free.”
Rashid’s pupils dilated. His hands went slack and fell to either side of the cash register.
The guy manning the deli counter slid a foil wrapped bagel over to Rashid. It bounced off his forearm. “Order up!”
Rashid muttered, “You can have this bagel for free.”
I wiped a droplet of sweat from my brow. “Great. Thanks.”
The door rang with my departure as I exited. Once on the sidewalk, I unbuttoned the top of my coat, my neck itching with a heavy moral compass. I shouldn’t keep doing this to people, but I had to experiment. Because each time I was successful, I could wrestle with reality a little less and accept the sane solution: I was in control. Hallucinations, thoughts of grandeur, and impossible fantasies could scatter to the wind, because this was real. Even though Rashid took a ton of effort and strain.
Frankly, if this power was waning, it was for the best. I shouldn't be the Special One gifted with sorcery as she fumbled into adulthood. Whatever this was should fade away on its own before someone got hurt. Or accidentally compelled to hurt. I didn’t exactly have the best track record of innocence.
Get that foul beast OUT OF MY SIGHT!
Was this what my mom was talking about? Have these things inside me been dormant and waiting all this time, and she knew it?
No way. Mom also thought there were demons in the walls.
I peeled back the foil of my hot, toasted, free bagel, still feeling smarmy, but not badly enough to return it, and took a hungry bite. My stomach accepted every swallow, and I blew out a sigh of relief through all the crumbs.
I’m getting back to normal.
When I arrived at Cream of the Cup, I found Macy waiting at an empty table, her foot tapping impatiently as she scrolled through her phone.
“You ready for work?” she asked as I approached.
My chewing slowed. Macy, while a great friend, never came to my work solely to greet me at the start of my shifts. Not unless she was up to something.
“Sure,” I said. “But I guess Rob isn’t meeting you this morning.”
I waited for her reaction.
“Who? Robbie Pearson? It was one night, dude.” She slapped me on the arm. “Stop bringing up my sexcapades!”
So. Rob Morrow was still a ghost and Macy did not understand there was a noticeable three-year-long gap in her sexcapade history. Somehow, I’d better sort this out.
“Never mind,” I said as I finished my breakfast. “Why are you here? And why are you so weirdly excited about my shift?”
Macy smiled. “Because I hear a certain handsome new boy will join us this morning.”
“Okaaaay.” I was unsure what to make of her scheming face.
“I might have texted a certain Mystery Guy to come over here.” Her grin widened.
“Mace,” I warned. “Whatever you’re planning, it better be for you and not me.”
She brushed off my tone. “Stop fake-delaying and get to w
ork. Go on! There are depleted students you need to caffeinate!” she said, flicking her hand toward the door leading to the basement lockers.
When all I did was stare back, unamused, Macy nudged me toward the stairs. I relented, mostly because I could only take so much of her bony elbows digging into my side.
“And why you get a bagel at a cheap food cart instead of eating the free pastries here, I’ll never know,” she called after me as I hip-bumped through the door. I fluttered cream cheese coated fingers at her in response.
I was stuffing my things into my locker when the feeling of ice-cold fingers gripped the back of my neck. Faltering, I clutched at the open metal hinges, breathing slowly and waiting for the shivers to pass.
Closing my eyes, I muttered, “Pumpkin Spice, Cafe Brûlée, White Chocolate, Cinnamon Swirl…”
I recited all the new fall-inspired lattes instead of dwelling on the clenching hunger pains rising in my stomach like icicles. The bagel was no longer being received well, and I pressed a hand against my belly as it growled. Turning, I rested against the row of lockers and mentally pep-talked myself to get through today. Or heck, the next ten minutes. Hocus-pocus or not, I still had rent to pay.
Zing.
The hairs on my arms rose.
Oh, come on. I couldn’t deal with him on top of everything else.
But, I had a shift to be present for. After a few more steadying moments, I took the stairs with shaking legs.
Reluctantly, I pushed through the door, and there he was.
Asher looked much the same as I remember, except better in daylight. His black hair was slightly longer in the front, grazing the tops of his ears, and I could tell he’d already messed with it a few times this morning. I swallowed audibly as he headed over to Macy.
