“Why on earth do you have an industrial-sized vat of glitter?” I asked.
He ignored my sarcasm and said, “Show me.”
The jar seemed so innocuous sitting there, but I knew how dangerous even these tiny particles could be in my hands. I didn’t want to touch the color. I didn’t want Danny to know how the red hid in my blood and was now a permanent part of me. Instead I grabbed the clear plastic base. After a moment, the red lid twisted counterclockwise and floated into the air, where I held it unmoving.
“Bravo!” Danny jotted something down on his clipboard. “And you only just had your first Release?”
But I wasn’t done. Danny was here to save me from myself if I went too far, and I needed to learn. Using what I’d practiced with the chalk, I closed my eyes and pushed my consciousness forward until I sensed the red of the glitter. Particle by particle, piece by piece, I gathered the glitter and pushed it into a spiral in the air.
Danny gasped.
I forced the red to act, to spread throughout the room and form a flat plane a foot above my head. Even though I could not see, I imagined the sparkling ceiling above me. But my tenuous hold faltered. The red inched its way back, not to its container, but to me, like I had my own gravitational pull. The room started to spin as my strength faded away. I couldn’t let Danny see the red seep into my skin. He couldn’t know how little control I had over the red or myself. So I opened my eyes and let go.
The glitter fell like rain, delicate and twinkling. I concentrated on keeping it at bay. At first it split around me, as if there were an invisible umbrella above my head.
“Excellent!” Danny shook glitter out of his hair and didn’t notice how it clung to me instead of falling to the ground. “And I thought you might not be a Colorist. It goes to show you that even guys as smart as I am can be mistaken.”
Jerk. But then the glitter flew at me from all directions. Oh, please, not again! My skin siphoned the red, and colorless flecks fell to the ground. The red clouded my vision and the anger erupted.
I hated the red and everything it made me feel. The angrier I became the more red flew at me. I was sick of it.
I flung my power outward, slamming the red away from me as hard as I could.
14
It is the nature of things that I cannot possibly know anything definite about.
—Vincent van Gogh
A shockwave cracked through the room with me at its center. For a moment, silence surrounded me, like the inside of a cyclone. Then the red flew outwards and slammed into the tables and chairs.
A flame ignited for a split second in front of Danny before the impact hurled him backwards against the wall. Then he fell forward onto his face.
In an instant it was over.
“Danny!” I ran to his side.
He moaned. He wasn’t dead—thank goodness.
I turned him over. “Danny, are you all right?”
His eyes fluttered open for a split second. “Maybe . . .” his voice trailed off.
“What Danny? Maybe what?”
“Maybe Van Gogh’s power wasn’t exaggerated.” He laughed manically.
“Uh . . .” I couldn’t think of what to say.
Danny pushed himself onto his knees and rose to his feet. “Come on, Aya, it’s ironic. You can laugh.”
I couldn’t laugh, all I could do was stare horrified at what I had done to Danny and the rest of the room.
I asked, “Are you okay?”
“Okay? I’m better than okay!” he said. “This is every scientist’s dream!”
“To get pummeled with sonic-speed glitter?”
“No! To do research on a lost Talent.”
“Oh.”
In a twenty-foot diameter circle around where I’d been standing, there was nothing. But beyond that space, the room seemed like a child had thrown a tantrum with doll furniture. Tables and chairs lay in heaps where they’d been thrown, and red glitter streaked the surfaces, wedged into the paint, wood, or metal.
I couldn’t wipe it away.
The door flew open, and Leslie ran into the room. “What’s going on here?” she demanded. “It sounded like there was an explosion. I heard it clear across the house!”
Oh, no! She was the last person I wanted to see. We’d just had our discussion about me going back to art school.
Danny stood up straight, but I could tell by the set of his shoulders that the movement hurt.
“Oh, nothing. Aya and I are just practicing. We might have gone a tad overboard, didn’t we?” He smiled and nodded at me like we were in on a joke.
“Yeah.” My voice shook and I tried to chuckle, but it came out strangled.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were in here, Danny. Carry on, I guess.” Leslie shut the door once more.
I slumped into an empty chair and buried my face in my hands. I didn’t want him to see my tears. Would this ever get any easier? My head throbbed like I’d been the one slammed against the wall instead of Danny.
Danny picked up his clipboard and sat in the chair next to me. “You know, I accidently burned down my house when I was fourteen.”
I choked. “You did? Was anyone hurt?”
“No, we all got out.”
“That sucks,” I said. “I mean, it’s good you got out, but it sucks you burned down your house.”
“I only tell you that so you understand. You’re not alone. You’re not the only one who’s Talent is dangerous. I know it’s hard, but it’ll get better.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“You’re right about that, because the choice is up to you. It isn’t going to be easy, but that’s why you’re here. You can learn.”
I was silent for a few moments. “I hope you’re right. I saw the flame. What was that?”
“It was just glitter, but glitter traveling at a few hundred miles an hour can still get under your skin. Get it?”
I just stared at him. How could he still be joking at a time like this?
“So yeah, I torched it, but the impact still hit me.”
“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“You need some more practice.” He rubbed the back of his head where it hit the wall.
“Not if I almost kill someone every time I do.”
“It isn’t that bad.” Obviously, he didn’t know. “Too bad there isn’t someone to show you how to be a Colorist. That’s what you really need, but we’ll just have to work with what we have.”
“I guess so.”
He stood. “Well, let’s get this place put back together.”
It didn’t take long, and there wasn’t much damage, well, besides every surface being sparkly red.
“I. Am. Exhausted,” I said. I could barely keep my eyes open, and my limbs were heavy like I was trying to walk through honey. But I really wanted to get back to my books. I needed someone who’d been a Colorist. I needed Van Gogh.
“Sure, go get some rest.” He wrote something on his clipboard.
“Danny?”
He glanced up.
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded.
I made my way up to my room and grabbed one of the Van Gogh books. I laid down on my bed, and the next thing I knew I was waking up.
Bah! These Talent-induced comas couldn’t be any more annoying.
I went down to dinner, and pretty much everyone but Kendra ignored me. I didn’t care. I’d never had as much red in my blood as I did now, and it took every ounce of control to contain it. For the rest of the evening and the next morning I searched for information on Van Gogh, while trying to keep the red at bay. I tried the Internet first, but my books had more in-depth information.
But even there I was disappointed. I don’t know what I’d expected, probably something like, “Van Gogh hated the color red, because it made him lose control,” or something. Many of the letters he wrote had phrases that might have been interpreted as having something to do with being a Colorist, but nothing was definitive. At so
me point, I just stopped looking and instead fell in love with his words.
“Art is jealous and demands all our time and all our strength, and then when we dedicate these to it, it leaves rather a bitter taste . . . well, we just have to try and battle on.”
They sounded more like poetry than correspondence.
For the next few days, I went to the Aolian class, did yoga, studied with Danny, and drew flames and fear from my dreams in my sketchbook. Unable to forget those piercing eyes and haunting words, I created pages and pages of the girl with the black hair pleading with me to save her. Find me, and you can save us both.
I didn’t have classes on Friday, and I spent the day reading about Van Gogh. Late in the afternoon, a car door slammed outside. Andy was supposed to be out of the hospital this afternoon, and I ran to the window to see if he was back. I needed to talk to him. I needed to know he was doing as well as Leslie said.
But it wasn’t Andy.
What was he doing here?
Terror and excitement sent a tingling down my whole body as I ran down the stairs and out the front door before I thought about what I was doing.
“Aya!” Liam called from the driveway. He had such a mischievous grin on his face I almost forgot I was dangerous. Almost.
“Liam,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought soup.” He held out his arms like he wanted a hug, a white paper bag in his hand.
“I’m—I didn’t expect to see you.” The smile on his face faded as I took the soup but didn’t go in for a hug. I wanted to, but I was expecting more time to get a hold of myself before I saw him again. It wasn’t so bad talking to him on the phone, but it seemed like when he saw me in person, he should be able to tell I’d changed, that I was now a ticking bomb. Like Leslie said, Liam was only human. He didn’t have Andy’s supernatural abilities to keep him alive if I lost control.
“Oh, I guess I thought . . .” he trailed off as he lowered his arms.
“I’m so happy to see you. I’m just surprised.” I suddenly regretted researching Van Gogh stuff all day instead of doing something important, like showering. I should have peered in the mirror before running down. “I would have changed out of my pajamas if I would have known you were coming.”
“Yeah, I should’ve thought about that, especially since you’re sick,” Liam said. “I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”
“It is a fun surprise!” And I meant it. It would be nice to spend time with someone who didn’t know I was a freak like the rest of the people here.
“So this place is really cool.” Liam looked over the facade of Scar Mansion. “You said the owner is a friend of your Aunt’s?”
“Yeah, it’s a Bed and Breakfast.” Could I take him inside? I didn’t see anyone when I came down, but it might seem strange to Liam that there were only teens staying at a B&B. But I couldn’t just leave him here, and I at least needed to change out of my pajamas. Was he expecting to hang out? Probably, since he didn’t just drop off the soup and leave, and it did take an hour to drive here. This was NOT how I imagined my first time hanging out with Liam outside of school would go. In those fantasies I was at least wearing normal pants and my hair had been washed in the last three days. “Did you want to come in and see? It’s an awesome old mansion.”
“Sure. Is my car all right there?” He pointed to a bright-orange Toyota Land Cruiser that looked like it was built in the 70s, on the side of road.
“I’ve always loved those things. You’ll have to take me for a drive.”
“Totally.”
“Well, come on.” I motioned him toward the house. “Oh, crap.”
“What?” Liam said.
A white sedan pulled into the parking lot, and who should open the doors, but Leslie, Andy, and Scott. Great. The side of Andy’s face was covered in a deep purple bruise and he had on some kind of a sling, probably to keep his ribs or collarbone stable.
For a moment I couldn’t move. Oh, Andy. I’d never meant to hurt him. What kind of a monster could do that to a person? I needed to talk to him. To really know he was okay. When I’d thought about how I was going to talk to Andy about how sorry I was, again, I was not wearing my pajamas with penguins all over them. What did Andy think of the whole thing?
Liam followed my gaze. “Is something wrong?”
15
It’s a comfort that we are always engrossed in our raw materials, not speculating about wanting only to produce. And so we cannot go wrong.
—Vincent van Gogh
“No, I just need to talk to my friend real quick. Can you stay here?” But just then Leslie strode straight toward us.
“Hi, Aya,” Leslie said. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Liam from art school. I told him I wasn’t feeling well, so he brought me some soup.”
“How sweet,” Leslie said, but there was an edge to her voice. She probably didn’t like non-Aolians showing up. “Have we met before, Liam?”
“I don’t think so, ma’am,” Liam said. “I’ve never been up this way. I mostly stay in the city.”
“Why don’t you come in? It doesn’t appear Aya was expecting you, and I am sure she would like to change out of her pajamas. You do realize it’s afternoon right, Aya?”
“I was busy today.” My face flamed. She wasn’t my mom and didn’t have to embarrass me.
“Aya is sick,” Liam said. “She can wear pajamas all day.”
“Yep,” I said with a nod.
“You guys go to art school together?” Andy asked. “Like in New York?”
And suddenly I was aware that the guy I’d just hard-core made out with a few days ago was talking to the guy I had a crush on. Oh, man! These worlds were not supposed to meet. I had my Aolian life here, and my real life at Art School and Montana, and the two were never supposed to come in contact. I was counting on not being a freak in a portion of my life.
“Aya is an amazing painter,” Liam said.
“You drove all the way up here?” Andy asked. The bruises on his cheek would have made even a pleasant expression sinister. This was not a pleasant expression.
“Yeah, I was worried about how sick she is.”
“You didn’t need to come all this way,” Andy said.
“I wanted to,” Liam said, his face unreadable.
Seriously, people! Could this get any more awkward?
Andy turned to me. “Aya, can I talk to you?”
“Yes,” I said. “But Liam just arrived. Can I find you in a little while?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll see you later.” Andy turned his back and headed to the mansion.
Oh, man. He was pissed.
The timing just sucked today. I thought about running ahead, but that would leave Liam alone.
“It was nice to meet you Liam,” Leslie said when we reached the house.
Liam returned a polite reply.
“I’ll show you the house after I get dressed.” I left the soup in the kitchen fridge. “Come on up this way.” I was about to grab his hand, but at the last moment I realized what I was doing and jerked it back so quick, I hit it on the staircase banister.
“Ouch, are you okay?” Liam asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
We made it up both flights of stairs to my room. Liam’s gaze lingered on the drawings on my wall. Then I realized the guy I liked was in the intimate space of my bedroom.
“Wow,” he said. “You really are amazing . . . at drawing, I mean.”
I laughed awkwardly. “Thanks.”
“Did you bring these drawings from your aunt’s house?”
“No, I’ve drawn them since I arrived.”
“Haven’t you only been here like a week or something?” he asked.
Had it really been that short of time? It seemed like forever.
“Yes,” I said, “but I’ve had a lot of time on my hands. You can stay here while I get dressed. I’ll be a few.” I grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and headed to
the bathroom. Kendra’s words of you don’t have anything cute, echoed in my mind. I should really start my apprenticeship sooner rather than later.
I threw on the clothes and tried to do something with my curls that I had slept on last night and hadn’t touched this morning. Nothing but a shower would revive them and I didn’t have that kind of time. So I swept them into a messy bun that I hoped appeared sexy instead of grungy and changed my clothes. With a hint of makeup, I stepped out into the hall.
I couldn’t let this thing with Andy fester any longer, so I crept down the stairs and found the door with his name on the white-board outside and knocked.
“Come in,” Andy yelled.
I slowly slid open the door so he had time to see that it was me.
“Hey, Andy.” I took a half step over the threshold.
His room was finely decorated in tones of navy blue and yellow and was more masculine than Kendra’s room. He was lying on the bed with his cell phone in hand. He leaped up and pulled an earbud out of his ear when he saw me.
“I just wanted to say I am really sorry,” I said. “I couldn’t possibly feel worse about what happened.”
“Aya, you don’t need to apologize. I should. My behavior was unacceptable. Please, come in. The last few days have been torture, horrible.”
I took another step inside. “I know! I’m so sorry. Leslie said I broke some of your bones?”
“Not because I was hurt!” Andy waved away my apology. “But because of what I did to you.”
“Really,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I really had no idea I’d lose control like that.”
“Stop apologizing!” he said. “I’ve been sick to my stomach since it happened. When I touched your skin, I couldn’t let go. It held me there, and even though I tried to break away, it wouldn’t let me. It was horrifying. Aya, it was as if my mind had no control over my body. I know guys often like to use that as an excuse, but . . . I want you to know, I’d never touch you or any other girl like that without your permission. I’m stronger than everyone else, so I am even more conscious of making sure. But with you, I totally failed. Please, I don’t want you to think I am one of those guys.”
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