“What is your type?” The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back.
At this, he looks up slowly, his eyes searching mine. He chuckles softly. “Well, until recently, I wouldn’t say I had one.”
My heart starts to pound. I want him to kiss me. I want his hands to tangle in my hair, to feel his beating human heart against my stolen one. The thought is unbidden, but I can’t say it’s brand new. I also can’t say it doesn’t scare me.
“What does that mean?” I ask quietly, almost in a whisper.
He smiles. “Kailey, it’s pretty obvious.”
“Is it?” I feel my mouth wanting to follow his lead, but I push the smile away.
He hunches his shoulders, digs deeper in his pockets. “We’ve been friends for a long time. Even though you haven’t always been the nicest to me. It’s okay, I don’t care.”
I don’t take my eyes off him. “I don’t believe you.”
“Something’s changed about you. Something . . .” His voice trails off, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he continues. “And I only hope I didn’t just screw up our friendship by telling you that.”
“You didn’t,” I say softly, finally returning his gaze. His eyes lock on mine, and the wind stops for just a few seconds. But sometimes seconds can last a very long time.
And then.
And then he kisses me, and my life slides into focus. Since I am strong, I do not worry about losing control like I did when I was trying to save Kailey. Instead, I close my eyes and picture the wind moving through nighttime flowers, the moon casting beams on his thick-browed turquoise eyes, the ever-present hood that hides his crow-black hair.
I feel his hand move hesitantly to my cheek, and I touch his arm. I may only be a spirit, but my lips are warm against his. The ancient redwood tree sighs contentedly.
I pull back and regard his face. It’s different. I realize that his eyes are usually so sad, that his casual demeanor hides the sadness. But now they’re not. He touches my cheek and says, “We have time,” then lies back to look at the stars. I lie beside him, quietly, smiling in the darkness.
Time. College, Kailey, Mrs. Morgan said. Two years away. To an Incarnate, it’s nothing, it’s insignificant. But when you have people who care about you, who you’re excited about, each day becomes significant.
Maybe, just maybe, I can stay here until then.
twenty-two
I wake up the next morning with a smile on my face. I want to stay in bed and think about Noah, but I go out to the kitchen and eat breakfast. Bryan’s not here, and Mrs. Morgan reminds me he has early football practice this morning. That means it will just be Noah and me in the car. Little jeweled butterflies rise in my stomach, and I can’t suppress my smile. “You’re in a good mood,” observes Mr. Morgan, amused.
I throw on my usual outfit of jeans and a sweater, but I’m not satisfied. I look boring, not like a girl who was kissed in the Halloween wind. In the back of Kailey’s closet, I find a white crocheted dress that makes me feel like I ought to be making daisy chains in a soft-focus meadow. Better. I even put on lip gloss and mascara. I definitely don’t need blush. I pick up the bottle of Kailey’s jasmine perfume, but decide against it. That belongs to Kailey. I look up at the sound of the doorbell.
“Kailey!” Mrs. Morgan’s voice drifts down the hall. “Noah’s here!” I can hear her mix of confusion and glee—Noah usually just pulls up to the curb and waits for Bryan and me to run out. I peek out the window and see his car, but he’s not in it. Don’t blush!
I grab Kailey’s leather messenger bag and force myself to walk slowly out to the foyer. Noah’s standing awkwardly next to Mrs. Morgan, holding a cup from Peet’s. Instead of the ever-present hoodie, he’s wearing a corduroy blazer, which highlights his broad shoulders..
“That’s a nice dress, honey,” says Mrs. Morgan. “You should wear it more often.”
“Yeah, you look pretty,” says Noah, and I feel the first tingles of heat on my cheeks. He holds out the cup.
“Th-thanks,” I stammer, accepting the coffee from him and taking a sip.
“Morning, Noah,” booms Mr. Morgan, folding his newspaper under his arm and shaking Noah’s hand.
“We should go,” I say.
Mr. and Mrs. Morgan follow us out the door and stand on the porch watching as we get into the car. Noah opens the passenger side door for me, and I start giggling. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.
“Right. You’re one of those independent girls.” He sits in the driver’s seat and turns on the engine.
“Have fun at school!” calls Mr. Morgan, sporting a knowing smile.
“Drive,” I tell Noah urgently, under my breath. “This is seventeen different flavors of awkward!”
We peel away and burst out laughing together. He glances over. “You are so red right now.” This just makes it worse. He pushes play on his iPod, and music fills the car and the silence. I feel wound up and nervous, but in a good way. This is definitely new territory.
We get to school and climb out of the car, and I realize I’m expecting him to run off to class by himself like he usually does. But he’s waiting for me. We walk a few steps when he takes my hand in his. His fingers are warm and dry and strong. At first we’re out of step, but we relax into each other’s pace.
“Good morning, Kailey and Noah,” Leyla chirps with obvious delight, taking in the sight of the two of us holding hands.
Noah nods, a big smile on his face. The bell rings, so we don’t stop walking, but I turn around to look at her. Her eyebrows are raised, but she looks happy for me. Nice, she mouths silently.
We pass Madison and Chantal, both of them beaming at us. I hear them erupt into discussion as we walk away.
Nicole spots us and glares, shaking her head. But not even her barbed comments or icy looks can penetrate my happiness. Noah isn’t in love with her. He likes me.
We walk into the biology classroom and I stop in my tracks. I feel the blood draining from my face and my heart thudding thickly in my ears. I drop Noah’s hand, feeling a cold sweat break out on my forehead, my chest.
There’s a figure standing at the front of the room, his back to us. A familiar silhouette and platinum hair I’d recognize anywhere. He’s writing something on the whiteboard.
No. It can’t be.
The man turns around, and I feel my veins turn to ice. I am a butterfly, right at the moment it flies into a net. He straightens his tie and brushes off the forearm of his immaculate black suit. “Good morning, class,” he says, with a brilliant smile. “I’m Mr. Shaw, your substitute teacher.”
That smile, those eyes watching all of us, that sweep over me, calculating, watching, missing nothing. A smile I never thought I’d see again.
It’s Cyrus.
twenty-three
Somehow, I make it to my seat. Despite my shock, my hands aren’t shaking as they dutifully unzip my backpack and pull out my notes and textbook.
Cyrus waits patiently for the class to settle down, for papers to stop rustling, before he clasps his hands together and begins to speak. “The lesson plan for today is a discussion of the human brain.” Students are opening their books to the corresponding chapter. Dazed, I thumb through my textbook, but none of the words make sense.
“Close the books, please,” says Cyrus. “They are of no use to you today.”
The students exchange curious glances with one another, but do as he asks. He clears his throat and approaches the whiteboard, where there’s a detailed illustration of the brain, skillfully shaded and textured. “Cerebral cortex,” he says, pointing to the board. “Hypothalamus. Cerebellum. Frontal lobe.”
He walks away from the board. “You might think of this as a road map to the brain. But, like most road maps, it doesn’t really tell you anything. You can memorize the names of the places and what they’re famous for, but it’s nothing like being there. No matter what those textbooks say, the brain is
only partially understood. Some say space is the final frontier. But what about consciousness?”
He pauses, holding his chin in a cupped hand. “This may sound philosophical, but biology is the study of life. And where, in this mess of cells, does your consciousness reside? Is it a chemical reaction?”
I can’t pay attention any longer, but I can tell by the expressions on my fellow students’ faces that they’re fascinated. I find it hard to believe this is happening, but I’ve been on this Earth long enough to know the difference between waking and dreaming.
What gave me away? I must have made a mistake, somewhere. I probably made a million mistakes. It was a mistake to go into that bar. It was a mistake to talk to Taryn. It was a mistake to leave the bag behind. It was a mistake to try to save Kailey—then try to live as her. And, I realize with a sinking heart, it was probably a huge mistake to report the car missing. What if the police called the man I’d bought it from? What if I didn’t properly clear my browser history and Cyrus saw that I’d bought it in the first place?
How had I ever thought, for even a second, that Cyrus might not find me? He always gets what he wants. Always.
I’ll find out soon enough if he knows it’s me. I don’t have any illusions about it—I betrayed him, and I will have to pay. I doubt he will kill me. After the note I left him, he knows that I don’t want to be with him. He’d probably just lock me away, force me to swap bodies with innocents, and live with him for all eternity. Cyrus has always enjoyed meting out his particular brand of torture.
In all the years I’ve known him, Cyrus only had one true friend. Nathaniel joined our coven in the nineteenth century, when we lived in New York. Nathaniel was just as exuberant as Cyrus for the subjects of science, metaphysics, the chemistry of spirituality. But then one night Nathaniel told me he had fallen in love with a human.
“Ada,” he replied. “She’s so beautiful.” His eyes were so serious. “I haven’t told Cyrus yet, but I’m going to marry that girl, I swear.”
I chuckled. Marriage took on a new meaning for an Incarnate. “Till death do us part”—we understood the solemnity of that like few mortals ever could.
Later that night, I overheard Cyrus and Nathaniel arguing in the library.
“She’s mortal! She’ll grow old before your eyes. And it won’t be long till you need a new body. What will you tell her then? You can’t even give her children,” Cyrus boomed.
“It doesn’t matter,” answered Nathaniel. “I will love her when she’s old.”
Nathaniel was gone the next morning. Cyrus didn’t worry much at first. “He’ll be back,” he promised us assuredly. But the days turned into weeks and the first snows blanketed the city streets. Cyrus searched the whole island of Manhattan, combing the Five Points area, sure he’d find Nathaniel dead or hurt. But one day Cyrus finally admitted that Nathaniel was gone.
He was despondent. He sat for days in his library, reading books or just staring out the window, snapping at servants who brought him food. He dragged me out into the night with him, to gambling dens and bars, to smoky places where men fiddled frantic songs of love. One snowy night on our way home, we noticed a familiar man in front of us.
“Nathaniel!” Cyrus grabbed my hand and pulled me into the shadows, then forward, trailing the man for blocks and blocks.
“Cyrus,” I whispered, “let’s go home.”
“No!” he hissed. “I just . . . want to talk to him. I miss him, Sera.”
I obliged, keeping silent pace with him till the moment he stepped out from the shadows and confronted his old friend.
“Nathaniel.” Cyrus sounded strong, certain.
Nathaniel whipped around. When he saw us, fear crossed his face. He took several steps backward. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Want?” Cyrus laughed bitterly. “Aren’t we friends?”
“Cy—” Nathaniel began.
“How’s the wife? Did you tell her what you are?” Cyrus took a step closer to Nathaniel. “Did you tell her about us?” Another step, and another.
Nathaniel shook his head sadly. “I didn’t tell her anything. Cyrus, I’m sorry I left you. It was the only way.”
The snow was falling so softly, thick upon the ground. It was white, then orange, under the dim light of the gaslights. I buried my nose in the fur stole, shivering.
“I loved you like a brother.” Cyrus’s voice snarled. “And you betrayed me.”
His hand darted down to his boot, the boot where he always carried a very sharp knife, and in one swift movement he stabbed Nathaniel. I don’t know where, probably his heart. I screamed as Nathaniel fell backward into the snow, his blood seeping outward in the pure white until it was just one big pool of red. His body evaporated into dust.
I’m pulled from memory by the realization that everyone in the classroom is staring at me, waiting for something. Cyrus must have called on me to answer a question, but I have no idea what it is. I swallow, then open my mouth. But before I can make an utter fool of myself, the bell rings.
Mercifully, the silence dissolves into the sounds of backpacks being unzipped, notebooks closing, and stools being shoved backward. I am halfway to the door when I hear my name.
“Kailey, right?” says Cyrus, peering at the seating chart. “Please stay a moment.”
twenty-four
Caught. The word echoes in my head till it dissolves into nonsense. I glance down at Kailey’s pretty white dress and worry, irrationally, about it being ruined when Cyrus begins punishing me. White dress, white snow, red blood.
I approach his desk. For a long minute he doesn’t speak. He stares at my wrists. I cross my arms over my chest, willing him to say what he has to say. His gaze follows my hands. “Mr. Shaw?” I prompt, playing along with his game. I have no other choice.
“Right, sorry. I was just thinking.” He smiles that brilliant, icy smile, revealing perfect white teeth. “Kailey, what did you think of class today?”
Class? He’s playing with me, like a cat with its prey. “I . . . thought it was interesting.”
“Did you? Because you didn’t appear to be paying attention.” His tone is stern. “And if you don’t find the material interesting, I’m not doing my job.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No need to apologize. Truly, it’s my fault. I promise that future classes will be far more engaging. But this isn’t why I asked you to stay.” He leans back in his chair and holds his hands together in his lap. His expression softens.
“The school administrators mentioned to me that there was a female student who had been in a terrible car accident recently. And naturally, I’m very concerned.” His eyes—ice blue—watch me carefully for any reaction.
He’s lying. I’m certain no one at the school knows about the accident. “Who was it?” I ask, my voice stronger now.
He sighs. “They didn’t tell me. It’s infuriating, really. Post-traumatic stress, even brain damage, can show up weeks after an event like that. I need to know who it is so I can be sure to watch out for signs of trouble.” This strikes me as a strange thing for a teacher to say. But any other student would probably accept it at face value, would think he was perfectly caring and concerned. But I know him, and I sense the quivering rage lying just beneath the surface of his words.
But he really, truly doesn’t know who was in the crash. This gives me strength. “I haven’t heard about any car accidents,” I lie smoothly.
“No? Perhaps the girl hasn’t told her friends. I want you to think hard. Anyone been acting strange lately? Done things that are out of character?” He leans forward, watching, always watching.
I will my face to remain composed. I look up at the window, pretend to think. “Well, Nicole’s been very sensitive lately. But I don’t think she was in an accident.”
“Nicole?” he asks, studying the seating chart.
“Nicole Harrison.” I point out her name. “Long dark hair? Sits right behind me?”
&nbs
p; “Long dark hair,” he repeats. His expression brightens. “Yes, I remember her. Thank you, Kailey. You’ve done the right thing by telling me. It may be nothing, but I couldn’t live with myself if I missed the chance to help a student.” I feel a flash of guilt about offering up her name, but Cyrus will learn soon enough that she’s just a regular high schooler. But it’ll distract him, and what I need now is time—and to throw him off my track.
I glance at the clock on the wall behind him, but the time is all wrong. I pull out Kailey’s iPhone to check the time. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” I say, smiling apologetically. “I’m late for English.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He’s looking at my phone. He chuckles. “Isn’t it funny how we tell time with those things? No one wears watches anymore. Although it seems that you usually do?”
What an odd question. I look down at my bare wrist. There is a pale circle around it, visible in Kailey’s golden tan.
“I really have to go,” I repeat.
“Of course, of course. Please go to English. Thank you again for the information.”
I nod, then pick up my backpack and head for the door, feeling his eyes on my back. I wait till I’m in the safety of the quiet hallway to exhale.
twenty-five
I spend the rest of the day in a fog, making mistakes in trigonometry and not hearing my—Kailey’s—name called in history. After school, Noah drives me home and asks me if I want to join him on a walk through the neighborhood. I tell him no, that I’ve got to study. He tries to act like it’s no big deal, though I can tell he’s hurt. But I can’t be around him right now. I can’t be around anyone.
I go straight to Kailey’s room and close the door. Cyrus may not know who I am now, but it won’t be long before he figures it out. Either way, I’ve got to run. Tonight. I pull Kailey’s backpack out from under her bed and start packing for an escape, my hands shaking. I throw in clothes and stop. I don’t have anything I’ll need—no fake ID, no cell phone. I think about taking Kailey’s iPhone, but worry that will make me easy to track by the Morgans. I look in my wallet and count the cash I’ve made at the antique store: only $160. Kailey must have money somewhere, I figure, and start tearing apart her room. I find random twenties under her bed and hit the jackpot in a little box in the back of her closet. A bunch of birthday cards from her grandparents are stashed there, along with a roll of money—$360 in total. I wonder briefly what Kailey was saving up to buy; perhaps art supplies. Or maybe something related to why she was in Jack London Square the night she died.
The Alchemy of Forever Page 11