Alizarin Crimson

by Erica Millard

  “My mom and I used to do yoga.” I was still reeling from not getting kicked out.

  “We don’t have anyone who has worked with a Colorist before, so I am afraid we’ll just have to practice and experiment as we go. You’ll be working with Danny. You remember him, the guy who did the introduction in our class?”

  “How could I forget?”

  Leslie grimaced. “Yeah, he’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s brilliant and has a knack for getting Aolians to learn their Talents.”

  “I need all the help I can get,” I said.

  Leslie held up her hand, and a tiny flame burned in her palm for just a moment, until she shook it away. “Most of us do,” she said with a kind smile. “Is there anything else you would like to do while you’re here?”

  “I want to go back to my art school.” My voice was so quiet, I was surprised she heard me.

  “Your art school?” Leslie said the words slowly, as though she didn’t quite understand what I was saying. “After what happened last night, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The people at your art school are just that: people. They don’t have Andy’s supernatural strength to combat your . . . power.”

  “But I feel so much better when I draw,” I said. “I think learning more about art will help me control my Talent.” I didn’t realize until I said the words that I believed them.

  Leslie frowned at me for a long moment. “I’m not sure going back is such a good idea, but we’ll give you a week-long grace period here and if there are no more incidents, we can think about you going back. But, Aya, I really think that learning how to use your Talent is the most important thing you can do right now.”

  “I can do both,” I said. “One week. That sounds good.” I repressed a sigh of relief and then couldn’t figure out why I cared. I could leave this place any time I wanted.

  “Is there anything else you want to do while you’re here?” Leslie asked.

  I’d been so fixated on going back to art school, I hadn’t thought about much else. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “We should get you moving color as soon as possible.”

  “What? Like, on purpose?”

  “Of course! Your appointment with Danny is tomorrow at ten.” My stomach was suddenly full of Pop Rocks. “Let me know if you can think of anything.” She glanced down at the papers in the folder on her desk.

  “Thank you.” I stood before heading for the door.

  “Oh, and try to come to meals and make friends here. Being a Talent can be lonely.”

  I nodded before escaping into the richly decorated hallway.

  I’d missed breakfast, so I sneaked into the kitchen, grabbed a carton of milk and a pastry, before heading back up to my room.

  I dodged past the drawings on the floor to get to my bed and stacked up some pages so I had a place to sit. With my legs folded up beneath me, I leaned against the wall to eat my breakfast. What the hell had happened with Andy last night? This color thing was making me stupid. I no longer had control over any part of me. I’d broken Andy’s bones. Why did thinking of Liam make me want to stop? I barely knew the guy. At least I wasn’t thrown out. Leslie wanted me to practice moving color. It made sense, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

  I used a box of tacks I bought from the mall to hang all my drawings on the same wall my bed was pushed against. They covered every inch. Although all the images were an unrelated mess of confusion, they didn’t seem out of place when put together at straight, ninety-degree angles.

  I stalled, not wanting to intentionally move color just yet. My phone rang. Yes! I could put it off a little longer. I picked up the phone, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw who it was.

  “Liam! How are you?”

  “Hey, are you feeling better?” Liam said. “Are you ever coming back to class? It’s so bo—oring without you.”

  “Class might be just as boring with me as it is without.”

  “Not possible.”

  “So boring has reached that low?”

  “No, really. When?”

  “A week and I’ll be back.”

  “A week! That’s forever!”

  “Yeah, well . . . I got pneumonia, and I can’t go back to class for a week.” My mom had gotten pneumonia last year and it sounded severe enough to put me out of class for that long.

  “Pneumonia! That sucks. I thought you had a migraine.”

  “I thought so too, but it was just the infection.”

  “Can I bring you something?”

  “Oh!” I wish. “That’s really sweet but I’m actually at my Aunt’s friend’s house, this crazy place called Scarborough Mansion in Connecticut. I’ve really just been sleeping a lot.”

  “Connecticut? Why?” Liam asked.

  Lies, lies, and more lies. “Well, my Aunt works a ton and thought her friend would be able to take care of me better.”

  “You do sound tired.”

  “Yeah.” Probably because I didn’t sleep last night. “Anything happen in class since I’ve been gone?”

  “Not really. Just Oliphant telling us over and over we need to put more of ourselves into our work. I’m thinking of painting the next one in my own blood.”

  “Gross. I don’t know if she would be ecstatic or freaked out,” I said.

  “Probably both. Well, I should let you get back to sleep.”

  “Sleep sounds good.” It really did.

  “So you can’t come to class for a week, but did you want to, you know, hang out before then?”

  I knew I shouldn’t, really shouldn’t. “Sure, I’d love that,” I said.

  “Okay, great,” he said.

  “I’d love to go see Van Gogh’s Starry Night at the MoMA. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it in person.”

  “The MoMA is great. It’s a date then,” Liam said.

  “A date?”

  Liam was silent for a moment. “Yeah . . . I mean . . . if that’s okay.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “I’ll see you soon then.”

  “Bye.”

  With how crazy my life was right now and with what happened with Andy last night, I shouldn’t be excited. But I was. It would be nice to hang out with someone who didn’t know I was a freak. I could be the old me, not the new me who almost killed people. I just better not let him touch me.

  Now, I really needed some practice. I didn’t want to look like a complete idiot tomorrow with Danny. The idea of moving color on purpose gave me goose bumps. Red took over my body and senses like some kind of disease, but what would happen if I tried other colors? The box of pastels still lay open on my desk. I flicked the paper off to reveal the colors underneath. I gravitated toward the deep crimson, but instead I chose cobalt blue. The rich tone of cobalt was my favorite, making me feel calm and grounded. I pressed the pastel onto a blank paper, breaking off just the tip. Blue dust fell onto the page and I touched it with my finger; it smeared like a patch of sky through a mass of clouds.

  I stared at that little piece of blue, willing it to move like the red.

  Nothing happened.

  Feeling dumb, I tried again. How had I done it the first time with red? I didn’t want it, it just happened when I was so angry. The red seeped into me. Maybe I couldn’t control blue until it physically went into my body. I drew a thick line on my palm with the pastel. I wanted the line to disappear as red did, but it stayed on the surface. I could feel it there, faint and light, but this color was distant. I couldn’t access it. I drew another line, and another, wanting so desperately for the color to seep in. But it stayed in an invisible shell.

  “Gah!” I threw the blue pastel down. It snapped into three pieces. I was tempted to try the yellow but knew it wouldn’t work. This wasn’t the same as the first time I used red. I needed some other catalyst.

  How did I control red? It wasn’t something inside my body, although the red swirled and undulated there, waiting to be used. I reached out to the box of pastels with my m
ind, willing the red to move. It was so natural. The red lifted out of its space into the air and stopped. I imagined where I wanted it to go and it went.

  I pushed the red to the white paper and prodded it ever so softly away from me. A red line appeared, slicing through the smear of blue.

  Even though I hadn’t physically touched the pastel, I sensed the power of the color. I slid it faster across the paper creating a spider-web of lines. With my first few releases I’d made the objects explode and then used the color’s power. Could I do that in a more controlled way?

  I closed my eyes, feeling the red pigment where it had been pressed together into the pastel. One by one I separated each tiny speck of red from the group and pushed it away, while still keeping them within a contained space. I’m not sure how long it took, but I divided each particle of red from itself.

  I opened my eyes and gasped.

  A cloud of red dust the size of a beach ball hovered above my desk; the particles swirled within the sphere, as if ruffled by a slight breeze, beautiful and hypnotizing. Enchanting but impossible.

  “This can’t be real,” I whispered. As soon as I said the words the molecules in the sphere exploded. No longer containable, particles flew right at me. Dust filled my mouth, nose, and eyes. I tried to scream, but no sound could escape. Panicked, I clawed savagely at my face as I tried to scratch out an airway.

  It was happening again. Red took over.

  11

  What is drawing? How does one come to it? It is working through an invisible iron wall that seems to stand between what one can feel and what one can do.

  —Vincent van Gogh

  I couldn’t let it.

  I forced myself to calm down, to let the red do what it needed. I concentrated on it and gathered it into me. I welcomed it as it spread into my bloodstream and vision. It fought for a way to get to me, and I soaked it in. But my sight faded around the edges as I ran out of air. In a last effort, I shoved my fingers down my throat.

  Maybe I could scratch some of the remaining powder out, but nothing happened.

  I thrust my finger down one more time, managing to scrape a lump of clay-like substance out of my throat. At the same time I gagged, forcing the contents of my stomach out and onto the wood floor.

  Relief came as I gulped clean oxygen and spat the remaining pastel dust, now void of color, onto the floor. I coughed and coughed. After it was all gone, I pressed my cheek against the cool floor, just breathing.

  I almost vomited again when I realized how close I’d just come to killing myself. Well, the chalk medium the red was bound to almost killed me. All I wanted to do was paint.

  I went to the bathroom, grabbed some towels, and cleaned my floor.

  This really sucked.

  I took a shower, but even the hot water couldn’t calm me. The last few days had been the worst of my life. My face was scratched and splotchy when I looked in the mirror, but it didn’t look like there would be any permanent damage. The red swirling patterns on my skin seemed at home now and that terrified me. I didn’t even feel like me anymore. Who was I now?

  I headed back to my room and lay on the hardwood floor until there was a knock at the door. I didn’t move.

  “I know you’re in there,” Kendra said. “Don’t even pretend you’re not.”

  I sighed and opened the door. “Hey, Kendra.”

  She didn’t look at me like I was some kind of demon after what I did to Andy, and she had a genuine smile on her face. If she noticed the scratches on my face, she didn’t mention them. “Aren’t you coming to dinner?”

  “I didn’t realize it was time.”

  “I think you’ve been shut up in your room by yourself for too long,” she said. “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  “Out to dinner? Isn’t it free to eat here?”

  She pursed her lips. “You need some fresh air, and I know a great little hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant.”

  I imagined everyone downstairs acting like any moment I could turn into a viper. Indian food sounded perfect.

  “Come on.” Kendra tapped her foot. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “You’re right, I need to get out.”

  “What? You’re not going to argue?”

  “Nope. I’m starving.” I shoved my wallet into my pocket, and we headed down the stairs. It felt awkward, so to break the silence I asked, “So where are you from, Kendra?”

  “From outside Washington D.C.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s all right.” Kendra shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any.”

  Kendra stopped when we reached the bend in the stairs where the first level in the mansion became visible. She glanced around as if making sure no one could see us before picking up her pace down the rest of the stairs to the front door. Loud voices echoed from the kitchen and dining room, but no one was here in the entryway. Was she tiptoeing?

  But then I heard that voice and knew why.

  “Aya, you brat!” Cate screamed. Kendra mumbled something under her breath, and the kitchen and dining room went instantly silent. Heads poked out of doorways to see what was going on. Cate’s gaze was murderous as she glared at me from across the entryway.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You sent Andy to the E.R.,” Cate said, seething. Students filed in all the doors, trying to be inconspicuous as they lined the walls and pushed around others to get a clear view of what was going on. “You could’ve killed him!”

  “It was an accident.” A pang of guilt poked at my sides. It was entirely my fault.

  “You did it just to spite me didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU!”

  “What? Of course not.”

  “I saw you two all over each other. It was disgusting. And after I told you to stay away from him.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “How dare you!” Cate screamed and in the same instant she charged toward me, her hands straight out in front of her for only a split second before she disappeared.

  “What the—” I said before something hit me hard in the chest, sending the back of my head into the door behind me and then to the floor. A huge weight was on top of me, but I couldn’t see what. Something hit me in the face. Blood seeped into my mouth and down my throat. The back of my head blazed where it hit the door.

  “Cate, Cate, Cate!” cheers erupted from the bystanders.

  She was invisible.

  12

  The painter’s life is harsh enough.

  —Vincent van Gogh

  Oh, crap.

  I closed my eyes and reached out with my new Colorist senses. The red inside Cate’s body betrayed her every move. She went to punch me again but I twisted my head to the side. Her knuckles hit the hardwood floor. She shrieked and jerked her hand back. My eyes flew open and her image flickered visible for a moment.

  The red threatened, as it always did, to overtake me. The power-infused anger made me want to damage, to torture. The red in her body could be twisted and broken. It would be easy, but that would do too much damage.

  I forced the color down, caged it, like it was an animal. It would not control me.

  I pushed against the blood inside Cate’s body, sending her up and away from me. She hit the ground hard on her back, and she gasped for breath. Again her image blinked in and out of visibility. I reached out with my senses and took hold of the deep red rug and pulled. With a twist the rug rolled up with Cate in the middle like chicken in a burrito, her head sticking out one end. I wiped the blood off my face with my shirtsleeve and jumped to my feet. Cate screamed as she struggled to free herself. I ignored her.

  “I think we were going,” I said to Kendra where she stood wide-eyed by the door.

  “Y—Yes,” Kendra said. “Let’s go.”

  I turned away from the faces all around the room and didn’t look back as I strode through the door.

  Kendra’s footsteps echoed behind me on the brick pathway. I didn’t look at her. I didn’
t want to see the horror on her face.

  “You don’t have to hang out with me,” I mumbled. “Really. I won’t hurt you or anything, if you don’t want to stay.”

  “The car’s just over here,” Kendra said.

  I took a deep breath. Maybe she wouldn’t ditch me after all.

  She clicked the button to unlock her car in the parking lot. I climbed in the passenger side.

  “Seriously!” Kendra said as soon as she shut the door and started the car. “That was amazing. Cate was INVISIBLE! And you still managed to fight her off. And it happened so fast! Before I could step in to help, you’d already tied her up. How’s your face?”

  “It hurts,” I said. Kendra produced one of those little packs of Kleenex from of her purse and passed it to me. I tried to wipe away the blood, but it smeared instead. Still sporting the claw marks I’d made earlier, the girl in the mirror looked as dangerous as everyone at the mansion no doubt thought. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to a restaurant.”

  “There’s a drive-through pasta place that’s pretty good,” Kendra said. “But we have to eat at that Indian place later.”

  “You really think Leslie’s going to let me stay after this?”

  “Technically, you only acted in self-defense.”

  In a strange sense I was proud as we drove. I hadn’t hurt—or killed—Cate, even though it would’ve been so easy, as easy as breathing. That power terrified and overcame me, but I hadn’t done it.

  We pulled into the drive-through and ordered.

  Kendra drove to an empty park next to a dark forest of trees. We found a picnic table with peeling green paint and settled in. I took everything out of the paper bag.

  “Mmmm, fettuccine Alfredo.” Steam wafted up from my Styrofoam to-go box.

  “Nothing like spaghetti and bread sticks,” Kendra said, opening her own.

  We didn’t say much as we dug into our dinners, but my thoughts went back to the people in that room, watching Cate rush me as though it were some kind of circus act. When I’d asked about her Talent in the car, she’d said she wanted it to be a surprise, and I could see why. I scraped my fork along the bottom of the container, scooping up the last of the noodles.