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What is done in love is done well.
—Vincent van Gogh
“Why didn’t you give it to me before?” I didn’t remember my dad. He was some high-powered corporate lawyer who’d died in a plane crash over the Atlantic when I was three. Soon after, my mom gave his substantial life insurance money to charity, and we moved to Montana where she became a high school music teacher. When I complained about not having money, my mom just said it was money that killed my dad.
Aunt Jessie’s hands and voice shook. “He gave explicit instructions that I should not give it to you or your mother unless something strange happened. He made me promise.” She was the owner and top chef at one of those wildly expensive five-star restaurants downtown and was never frazzled or stressed. “I’ll never forget how he looked that day—frantic—raving. I promised I would. And it was the last time I ever saw him.”
He gave this to Jessie thirteen years ago. How could he have known what would happen?
“I don’t know what it says and most of me doesn’t want to know,” Jessie said. “I loved your father more than anyone else in this world. I was devastated when he died but . . .”
“But what?”
She was silent for a long moment. “There was something about him, something I never really understood. He was a great lawyer but sometimes I wondered if he . . .” She shook her head. “He could convince anyone of anything just by the way he spoke. He always knew the right words to say. It was fantastic and terrifying to see.”
“I don’t understand.” The envelope seemed to get heavier in my palm.
“I don’t either. But he loved you, and he left that for you. I think he is the only one who can tell you what you need to know.”
I sliced open the top of the envelope with my butter knife. A sheet of folded paper and something in a royal-blue velvet pouch slid onto the table, along with a card addressed to Jessie. Jessie picked up her card, while I unfolded the letter.
Dear Aya,
If Jessie has given you this letter, what I fear has happened, and my heart breaks that I am not there to see you so I can explain everything. You and your mother are my greatest joy. You have pulled me out of a half-life and made me human again. But now I know the high price I will pay for my humanity. I don’t have much time.
But I am not there, so I will just come out and say it.
In this world there are people who can do more than everyone else. In history people called it magic, but it’s more than that. There are people out there with amazing abilities, like healing or building or writing or controlling the weather. Sometimes they’re just really good. At other times it means they’re more—if they’re pushed or taught they can do more.
We are called Aolians.
I am a Speaker which means people have a hard time resisting what I say. In my heart, I wonder what it is you will be.
Figuring out your power can be painful and dangerous, but in the end you will be able to do wonderful things. I’m sorry I’m not there to help you through this process, but there is someone who can help you on your Aolian journey. I left a card with Jessie with the name of a school you should attend. It is where I went when I found I was an Aolian. I know this is confusing, but if you are anything like your mother, you’ll be stronger than anything you come up against.
Don’t forget I love you.
~Dad
P.S. I have left for you my Dechrua, the cuff that marks the beginning for all Aolians. I hope it will remind you that you are not alone.
I stared at the words for a long moment, re-reading the lines but not understanding. My hands shook, and it was hard to read the letters. I should have been jumping up and down screaming at what I’d just read, but I couldn’t move or think or feel.
My father’s death had left an immeasurable hole in my family. So many times I’d longed to know what it would have been like to have him there, to have both my parents to do something as simple as cook breakfast on a Saturday morning or come to my gymnastics meets. My mom often said he would have been proud of me, but those words only made me feel the loss of what should’ve been.
The anger that hovered beneath the surface of my mind and skin flared. No wonder my mom fell for him. He was handsome with some crazy Aolian power that would make her believe anything he said.
I fumbled with the string on the pouch, and drew out a thick, metal bracelet that was cold in my hand. The silver was tarnished, and along the top four symbols were etched into the surface: a round serpent with a forked tongue, a hand outstretched, a tree within a circle, and a dragon.
He’s said it was a Dechrua. A part of me wanted to fling it in the garbage, but I snapped the hinge closed over my wrist. It hung loose and would fall off if I walked too fast, so I pushed it up tight on my forearm.
My aunt stared at the card in front of her. I’d never noticed how much she resembled the pictures I’d seen of my dad. They both had beautiful, russet-colored skin and dark brown hair, although my dad’s had been curly and Aunt Jessie’s was straight. They also had angular and striking faces. I was disappointed I’d inherited my mom’s pale skin that burned in a few minutes of strong sun instead of my dad’s.
“What does the card say?” I asked.
She handed it to me.
“Aya must go to Scarborough Mansion.” Then it gave an address and phone number. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. I think I’ll go call this place.” Aunt Jessie stepped into her bedroom. Snatches of her voice filtered in, but I couldn’t understand what she said.
I stared at the papers in my hands. Aolians? What did any of it mean? If my dad thought this was any sort of explanation he was definitely crazy. There are people who can do things others can’t.
No, it couldn’t be true; people couldn’t heal others or control the weather. This wasn’t some book or movie or ancient religion—this was real life. If I hadn’t experienced what I did today, I’d never have believed it. The red now swirling on my skin didn’t lie. I still didn’t want to believe, but a part of me was happy to have this tiny connection to the man I didn’t remember.
Jessie put her arm around my shoulders, making me jump.
“I talked to Leslie, the lady who runs the school. She’s been expecting you.”
“Expecting me? Why?”
She shrugged. “They knew your dad. They’ll have a room ready for you tomorrow.”
“But what about art school and my scholarship?”
“Aya, this is important,” Jessie said. “I’ll tell art school you’re sick. This place is up in Connecticut, and it’s only an hour-and-a-half-long train ride. I told Leslie about your scholarship, and she says that you can work something out. I want you to stay for a few days and see what it’s like. Then we can decide what to do next.”
“If it comes down to me learning how to paint and learning how to make things explode, I’ll take painting. I just want to stay here.”
“I know I’m not your mom, but this is the best thing for you to do right now.”
Jessie couldn’t tell me what to do. The angry red simmering under my skin rushed to the surface.
“I’m not going!” But the instant I said the words, a crimson mug on the counter several feet away from me exploded, throwing splinters of porcelain that hit both Jessie and me. We stared at the mess for a long moment. Maybe Jessie hadn’t really believed, either, until now.
I swallowed hard. The red on my arms swirled, and I covered it with my hands.
“Okay,” I said. “But only for a few days.”
She nodded. “Finish eating and get some sleep.”
“Good morning!” Aunt Jessie said in a cheery voice as she jerked my curtains open, all hint of yesterday’s clouds far away. “Time to get up. Pack an overnight bag. Our train leaves in an hour.”
I pulled the covers over my eyes. “What time is it?” The headache was mostly gone, but the sharp light still stung.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Yo
u’d think after sleeping eighteen hours I’d feel better. Please tell me I just had a migraine or something and everything that happened yesterday isn’t real.”
She yanked off my sheet. “I wish I could. Get dressed. Wear long sleeves to cover this.” She held up and dropped my dead-fish arm before she left, shutting the door behind her.
I extricated myself from the bed with difficulty. Who knew my muscles could be so sore? I took off my pants and shirt and stared at the mirror. The swirling ribbons covered my entire body from the neck down. If it hadn’t been so terrifying, it might be beautiful. But it distorted my form, making my own body alien.
For a moment I stared at the Dechrua cuff still on my arm and decided to leave it.
I pulled on a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of jeans before stuffing some clothes in my school backpack. In the front pouch I put my wallet—not that I had much money—the tablet Jessie had lent me, and my phone. I wasn’t going to be gone long, but I couldn’t resist grabbing the Van Gogh book, a sketchbook, a set of pastels, drawing pencils, and a set of watercolors. Maybe I needed an intervention.
“Aunt Jess?” I called when she wasn’t in the living room.
“In here,” she yelled from her bedroom. “Are you ready?”
“Yep.”
“By the way, this is for you.” Aunt Jessie handed me a debit card with my name printed on the front. It had a Post-it note attached to the back with a massive dollar amount written on it.
I stared at it open mouthed. “Uh, what’s this?”
“Your father left me this also, to give to you at the same time as the letter. Take it.”
It felt like I held a snake before I put the card in my wallet. Just a month ago I’d gaped at the total on the cash register at the art supply store when mom and I bought all the brushes and paint I needed for school. Mom had paid with a brave smile, but I knew the sacrifice she had to make.
Somehow it made me despise my dad. He was the one who did this to me, and then he died and left me to deal with it alone. Stupid Aolian crap. I just wanted to paint. Why couldn’t I just paint?
The June air already sizzled as we strode to the closest subway station.
“We’re taking the train from Grand Central,” Aunt Jessie said. “It shouldn’t—” Her phone rang. “What’s up, Alison? He did what?”
I couldn’t hear what Alison said.
“I always knew he would get snatched away . . . . No, I can’t come in right now. I’m taking my niece to Connecticut . . . . Call any of the others. I’ll be there as soon as I get back.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Tim, our top day chef, quit with no notice this morning to go work for that reality-show Chef Chandry.” She took her annoyance out on her phone as she shoved it into her bag. “There’s no one to cover his prep and shift this afternoon.”
“You don’t have to go all the way to Connecticut with me.”
“Why not?” she said. “It’ll be fun.”
“Your clenched teeth say otherwise, and no it won’t. Take an hour-and-a-half train ride only to turn around and come right back? Really, I’ll be fine. At home I drive that far all the time, and it’s way easier to get lost driving than on a train.”
Jessie wrinkled her nose.
I waved away her concern. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”
“I guess so,” she said.
We skipped down the dingy cement stairs to the subway station.
“Call me the minute you get there,” Jessie said.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re right. I’m being silly.” She gave me a crushing hug. “You flew on a plane here by yourself. I just don’t get to see you very often and still think of you as a little girl sometimes.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Okay, see you soon, then.” Jessie gave me another hug. “When you get to Grand Central, just buy a ticket to Scarborough. Leslie, the lady who runs the school, said she would be there to pick you up.”
“You’ll call my art school and tell them I’m sick or something?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I loved Grand Central, with its massive windows, arched ceiling, and bustling people. So much human noise filled the cavernous space, with a million people going a million places. I loved the classic stone architecture next to cell-phone clutching travelers. This stunning building was like a spider, with its many legs connecting to tracks all across the country. We just didn’t have places like this in Montana. It took my breath away.
I drew out my sketchbook. The last time I’d drawn here, I made the people invisible and concentrated on the structure. This time I tried to capture the movement and life of this place forever in a state of flux.
I texted Liam while I stood in the ticket line, to tell him thanks, and so he would have my number. On my way to the platform, I bought a bag of pretzels from a food cart and picked the salt off each one before eating them.
I headed for the out-of-town commuter trains, thinking about all that had happened yesterday, when something hard slammed into me, pinning me against the wall.
“Well, hello there,” a man said in my ear as he pressed my cheek against the cold stone.
4
Just as many others have done & are doing. I no longer stand helpless before nature as I used to.
—Vincent van Gogh
“Let go of me!” I thrashed against his grip, but my wriggling couldn’t break his hold. His fingers wrapped around my neck, freezing me in place. I never realized how small I was until I tried to struggle against this huge man where the top of my head only came to his shoulder.
“Mike,” said a cool female voice, “there is no need for that. Let the poor girl go.”
Mike released me, and I recoiled from him, but I was still penned-in between them and the wall.
The woman was tall, probably in her late thirties, with pale skin, and blond hair pulled up into a perfect French twist. She wore an immaculate gray pantsuit with teetering high heels. Around one of her wrists was a thick, black-metal cuff with three symbols I couldn’t make out etched in silver.
Aolians.
“There’s no need to employ your usual tactics,” the woman said to Mike.
I jerked away from him, rubbing my wrist. He didn’t try to follow.
Behind the woman stood two other men, their backs to us, looking at each person who passed. “Trent, can you handle all these people?” the woman said to one of them, and he nodded.
What the hell did these people want? No one seemed to notice any of our group. Running was my only option. Maybe I could sprint through the ones with their backs turned.
“You’ll have to forgive him, Ayami,” the woman said. “He’s used to using force to get what he wants, but I’m sure it’s not necessary.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Ayami Lore, we knew your father, and we have been looking out for you for a long time.”
“You knew my dad?”
“Of course.” Her expression smoothed, and her mouth twisted into what could have been a smile but didn’t quite make it. “Your father and I were very close.” Her voice was glassy smooth but brittle, with an undercurrent of hostility. She patted her already perfect hair. “I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Dune.” She held out her hand to shake.
I didn’t take it.
“What do you want?” I asked, but the flippancy I was going for was marred when my voice cracked.
Her smile widened sardonically as she withdrew her hand. “Well, let’s just cut to the chase shall we? I’m sure with a human as a mother, you don’t know much about our Aolian world, but . . .” she straightened an invisible wrinkle in her sleeve, “I’m sure you’re now headed to the mansion.”
I said nothing, but two halves of me warred. I didn’t know anything about Aolians and she could tell me. The other half of me repeatedly screamed Run! Mike closed in a few inches to my side as if he had heard my thoughts.<
br />
Dune studied my face before continuing. “I want you to join me,” she said. “I run an organization of Aolians, and your Talent would be particularly welcome.”
“Why?”
“Your Talent is . . . special. I’m trying to make the world a different place, a better place where Aolians can flourish. With your Talent, I can achieve that goal. I was such good friends with your father, I’m sure he would want me to help you discover everything your Talent can do.” She smiled but her eyes were flinty.
I never knew my father, but he’d told Jessie I should go to Scarborough Mansion, and this lady was freaking giving me the creeps. Whatever the mansion was, it had to be better than hanging around with her.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” I took two steps forward, but Mike caught my arm. I tried to yank it away, but I couldn’t
“Hurry up,” Trent said. “All these people are making me nervous.”
“I’m sorry,” Dune said to me with narrowed eyes. Her demeanor changed instantly. “I can’t let Leslie or anyone else have a Colorist.”
Mike pushed me toward the front doors.
I screamed, the sound should have echoed through the glass and metal domed roof and pierced even the rumble of the hundreds of people, but no one looked up.
“No one can see or hear you,” Dune said.
And no one did. Even a police officer I could see out of the corner of my eye didn’t stop. What the hell was going on?
Anger swelled in my mind, past the fear, and consumed every thought. I closed my eyes and instead of pushing the anger away as I had before, I let it build and expand. But I didn’t know what to do next. When I opened my eyes, red saturated the world.
What had I done to make the vase explode? I reached out with my senses, trying to find something I could use.
“Be sure to cover us until we get into the cars,” Dune said to Trent.
I don’t know exactly how it happened, but the red in the room reached out, like a friend in the darkness. A rich, raw power waiting for me to claim it.
Alizarin Crimson Page 3