"I don't know what you're talking about," I snapped.
"Liar!" Lilly looked to Terry and Clarissa. "I found a package for Dylan." She gestured to a white FedEx pouch which lay open on the side table. I had seen it floating around the house over the last few days, but never bothered to look closer. "There was an old VHS tape inside, so I dragged out the VCR from the attic. And... and it's right there! He's known for years."
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turned to the others, insisting, “I don’t!”
I couldn’t read the expression on Terry’s face. “Clarissa, grab that blanket and hang it off the curtain rod. That’ll block more light from outside.”
I stood awkwardly to the side. No one looked at me. I felt like I was on trial.
Once the blanket was window was covered, Lilly pointed the remote control at the TV and hit rewind. Then play.
The grainy black and white recording began, showing a large cave with rock walls. Nothing spectacular, and most of the fine details were lost, except that the tide pool set up on a rocky shelf in the middle... glowed.
No color on the screen, but I knew it was a pure, sparkling blue.
"Whoa," my young voice came out tinny through the speakers. The boy I had been tipped his head to look around before he dashed to the rocky tide pool. "I've never seen this place before. What kind of starfish live in there?" Not waiting for an answer, he pointed to a goblet-like glass set on the lip of the pool. "What's that for?"
My uncle, too, looked exactly as in the vision. He limped, cane tapping, to the tide pool. With one gnarled hand, he took the goblet and dipped it into the water. And it was as if all the light collapsed to collect into the goblet as he drew it out again. His face was completely lost in the tape’s low resolution. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were dark pits like in the vision.
"No starfish, but a special kind of life does exist here." Uncle held out the goblet to the boy. "You must drink it."
The boy shifted and glanced back the way they had entered the cave. "Mama says I shouldn't drink seawater."
"And so you normally shouldn't, but this is a special kind." My uncle stepped forward. "It will not taste good, but medicine hardly does."
"Medicine? But I'm not sick."
"Not that sort of medicine."
"Oh," the boy said with an impatient sigh. "You mean the Indian kind of medicine. Magic. But that's not really real, my dad says."
"I think," my uncle said, "you should find out for yourself."
To the boy’s credit, he didn't give in that easily. "But why?"
Uncle smiled. "You alone in our family’s generation have the sight. This type of power—this medicine—calls to itself."
"What does that mean? I don't understand."
"Think of this as an inoculation. A shot in the arm to hold bad things at bay."
Finally, dubiously, the boy took the goblet from Uncle's hand.
I knew the exact moment the saltwater hit the boys tongue, because he tried to spit it back out. But quick as a snake, my uncle swooped in and tipped the cup up. His other hand pinched the boys nose tight. The boys eyes went wide with terror.
"Drink," Uncle commanded.
The boy made a horrible choking, gasping sound, and tried to shove the goblet away, but he was too small and Uncle was too strong. He had no choice. He swallowed only because if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to breathe.
Finally, the goblet fell to the cave floor, empty. Coughing, the boy bent to retch.
Uncle laid a hand on his forehead. The boy went still and quiet. He straightened, his eyes blank as a doll's.
"Forgive me," Uncle said. Then he raised his face and look straight at the camera. At me. "Forgive me, Dylan. I had only enough for one, and this was the only way I could save you. If not for this, you would have Turned with the rest."
Horizontal lines played across the screen as the tape ended.
Dead silence filled the room. I felt as if the floor was sinking under my feet. But there was something else. Maybe it was shock or adrenaline, but the hair stood up on my arms and on the back of my neck as if there were an invisible current of electricity running just under my skin.
No, not electricity. Power.
For a moment it was as if I could feel Uncle's hand on my forehead. A brief flash of indefinable power burning through my mind—burning out my memories.
I think I swayed on my feet, because Clarissa’s hand was suddenly warm and steady on my elbow. I looked into her green eyes and saw concern. No judgment.
"That terrible man didn't tell Dylan anything about the griffins," Clarissa said evenly to Lilly.
“He said ‘Turned’, didn’t he? ‘If not for this, you would have Turned with the rest’. What else do you think he meant?” Lilly demanded.
“But Dylan’s not grown up,” Ben said. “He wouldn’t have gone griffin.”
“Some kids didn’t griffin-out, but they died. Remember Merlot’s friend who couldn’t breathe?” Lilly pointed to the whiteboard. That incident had rated four gold foil stars.
Clarissa’s squeezed my arm. "Are you okay?"
It was easier to speak directly to her as if we were alone in the room. "I don't... I don't remember any of that—"
"That's convenient," Lilly sneered.
"Shut up, Lilly," Terry snapped. Then he turned on me with a hard look. "Why would he pick you for... for some sort of cure? I'm his son."
Clarissa flared up. "For goodness sake, Terry. Dylan was just a kid." Suddenly, the grip on my elbow went from comforting to viselike. Too strong to be from a girl her size. "He poured seawater down his throat. That's abuse! I'd repress that, too!"
"I don't think—" I started, and was drowned out by Terry.
"You don't get it," Terry said. “My father had medicine. He had power. He always knew when storms were coming."
"This again? Wow, then I guess I must have ‘medicine’, too!" Lilly exclaimed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Mine is called Doppler radar and the Weather Channel." That was a phrase exactly from my father’s lips. It was an old family argument: was Uncle misguided or powerful?
Terry ignored her. "He could go to any roulette table and lay thousands on the right number. Every time. Sick animals would turn up on our doorstep—"
"Oh my God." Lilly threw her hands in the air. "You guys lived on the edge of a Marine sanctuary. Sick animals turned up on everybody's doorsteps. And my dad had yours committed because he should have been on Extreme Hoarders—"
Ben spoke up for the first time. "Lilly, whose side are you on? I thought you were mad at your brother."
She rolled her eyes. "Magic doesn't exist, dummy. Uncle was crazy, but clearly he knew what was coming.” Her flinty eyes turned to me. “You knew too, didn't you?"
"No," I said simply. But I might be crazy just like Uncle.
"He was my dad." There was a hardness in Terry's gaze that he had never directed at me before. "And if he knew what was about to happen, he should have told me."
"Dylan didn't have a choice," Clarissa said.
By the bruising grip on my arm, her getting angry right now was not good.
"It's okay," I said quickly to her. "No, Terry's right. But Uncle..." I swallowed and licked dry lips. Did I taste a hint of sea salt? "He always said I had shaman blood." I glanced at Lilly. "Mom used to say the same, remember?"
My sister rolled her eyes again.
Terry stepped close. His eyes were like chips of coal. "My father," he said, "had real medicine. There's nothing special about you."
That hurt. But before I could find something to say, Terry turned to Lilly.
"Turn off the damn TV. You know better than to have any lights on after dark."
He strode past us all, down the hall into his bedroom. The slam of the door shook the windows. From several floors up, Baby Jane wailed again.
Ben made a face. "Ugh. He woke the baby. I'm not changing another diaper tonight. You guys deal with it." He left for the direction o
f the basement, as far away from the baby as he could get.
I let out a long breath and glanced meaningfully down at my arm.
Instantly, Clarissa dropped her hand. Red, finger sized marks were visible against my skin. "I'm sorry," she gasped and stepped back. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
I shook my head. I didn't know if I should feel hurt or angry, but all I felt was drained. It was as if while everyone argued, their anger had filled the room with a physical weight. Now, it was dissipating. "Forget it."
"Terry shouldn't have said that to you."
I shook my head again. "I know what it's like when your father doesn't want you."
Lilly either didn't notice or care about the marks on my arm. Retrieving the tape from the dusty VCR, she walked over and shoved it into my hands. She didn't meet my eyes. "Uncle was crazy," she said. "He wasn't magical, but he knew what was coming. You might want to figure out how."
And just like that, I didn't feel drained anymore. "You're right," I said. "Thank you, Lilly."
My sister looked briefly taken aback. Then again, kind words were few and far between in our house even before our mother had died. "Yeah. Okay." Casting a look at Clarissa, Lilly left for her own room.
I glanced out the window. Still dark outside, but that wouldn't last much longer. I rubbed my hand over my mouth and nodded once to myself.
Yes, this was the right thing to do. It felt right in a way that nothing else had since the adults Turned.
"Dylan?" Clarissa asked tentatively.
"I'm going out."
"Out where?" She stared at me. "Outside? In the woods? No, you're not!"
"Yes, I am." She wasn't going to stop me, but it was important that she understood why. "You know that feeling you get when you need to clear your head and get away from it all?"
If anything, Clarissa looked more alarmed. "No...?"
"Lilly's right." I took two steps to the window, glanced out, then back at her again. A surge of energy danced under my skin. "I don't know why I didn't see it before. And... You're supposed to fast for four days, that's what Uncle told me on the beach. But I don't think I have that kind of time, now. We don't have that kind of time. Don't you see?"
She spoke slowly. "There are griffins out there, remember?"
"I know, but staying here is a death sentence." I wasn't sure why I'd phrased it that way, only that it struck hard. Solid and true. "It's something I have to do—something I should have done already. And I can't be here. I have to be away."
"Dylan, you aren't making sense."
I ran a hand back through my hair. "If there are answers out there, Uncle has them. He said he stopped me from turning. That means he had a cure, Clarissa."
That did it. Her expression went from worried to carefully blank. She took a long look out the window.
"Well," she said. "Then you're not going alone. I'm coming with you."
7
Clarissa
I left a short note on the kitchen counter which explained Dylan and I were leaving to find answers, that we would be back very soon, and not to worry.
Of course everyone would worry. Ben was going to freak, but I couldn't let Dylan do this on his own.
This is insane, I thought. I'm going into the woods filled with man–eating griffins, with a boy who might be legit bonkers.
But no way was I allowing Dylan to go by himself. Plus, I’d seen enough weird stuff over the last few weeks—my feathers were at the top of the list—that I couldn’t discount anything anymore. And if I had a chance to learn what I was facing, and why the world had turned strange...
"How long do you think we’ll be away?" I asked as I laid pen across the paper. I didn't allow myself to look again at the note. Letting Ben know this way was for the best. If I woke him up to tell him, he would want to come along. This was my risk to take. Not my brother’s.
Dylan didn't answer. His dark eyes were glassy, and his gaze distant. It was as if he were looking somewhere else. Something I couldn’t see.
Biting my bottom lip between my teeth, I cast a glance outside. Still dark, but not for long. Stars twinkled in the sky—it was going to be a nice day without any haze of smoke. Perfect weather for walking into monster–infested woods. How is this my life?
Letting out a breath, I tried to clear my head. I had made my decision.
"I don't know," Dylan said.
I looked at him. "What?"
He shrugged. "I don't know how long this is going to take. Back before modern times, teenagers in different tribes—men and women would go out on vision quests before they were considered adults. For guidance and stuff. But it's a different process for everybody. Some would be gone for days, even weeks."
Days or weeks.
I grabbed up a backpack and shoved it into his hands, and then collected packages and a couple of bottles of water out of the pantry. I didn’t take too much. I didn't want Terry and Lilly to think that we were bailing on them.
"Is that what this is?” I asked as I stuffed cans into the backpack he held. “A vision quest? Sounds mysterious."
His smile was a quiet, shy thing. "You know how I told you that I spoke to my Uncle... uh, down in the basement? I think when I was sort of on the same plane as people did when they sought guidance from spirits."
Oh no, that doesn’t sound like guesswork at all.
"Well." I zipped up the backpack. I was going to keep a positive outlook. "That's a start, I guess.” I looked around. “Terry put the guns from the Norris's house in the pickup truck, right?"
Everyone had been in such a hurry to get into the house, we hadn't bothered to unpack the cars.
I spent a few minutes rustling through supplies. I added packets of beef jerky, a couple cans of tuna, and some of those plastic mini-tubs of applesauce to the backpack. Hauling all this would be heavy, but worth it.
Three full-size rifles, a pistol, and a flare gun lay in the cab’s back seat. I considered for a moment, then took the pistol and a box of ammo I hoped would fit it. I knew nothing about guns, but the pistol was small enough to carry easily. Also, it looked like it had already been loaded. Thanks, Terry.
"Okay. That's everything." From here, I could see the shimmering reflection of the lake through the trees. Was it already a little lighter by the horizon? We had to get moving.
Dylan held out his hand for the backpack, leaving me free to carry the pistol.
There was a driving shotgun joke in here, somewhere. My gut was too heavy with fear to really think about it.
"There's a hiking trail that runs behind the subdivision," Dylan said and nodded to one of the few slopes beyond that had been untouched by the fire. "It's touristy, but has restrooms and some old-timey pioneer re-created cabins along the way that we could use for shelter. If we need it."
I so did not want to spend the day hiding out in a restroom, but it was better than being in the open. Nodding, I cast one glance back at the dark house. All was quiet. There was going to be one heck of a storm once everyone woke and realized we were gone.
I had to leave before I changed my mind.
"Lead the way," I said.
The trail was easy enough to find. It was a well–marked path that started at the lake, ran between two neighboring yards, and curled north to the mountains beyond.
Thanks to the wildfire, most of the mountain was black and dead. There were a few strips and patches here and there that had been saved by natural breaks in the terrain. I’d like to think it was a good omen for Dylan’s vision quest thing, but in reality, wildfire was just unpredictable. The flames jumped here and there, carried by embers on the wind.
My shoes crunched over a soft fall of pine needles. A few weeks ago, a path like this would've been swept clean by park rangers, or maintenance. Now, I had to watch my step to avoid sugar pine cones almost two feet long, and dead-fall branches.
I knew what had knocked all this from the trees.
"Dylan," I said softly, "By now, your uncle’s probably a griffi
n. You know that, right?"
He didn't answer. A cold, pre-morning wind blew in from the lake. I could've sworn the feathers on the back of my shoulder rose along with a wave of goose–bumps.
"I don't think so," Dylan answered at last. That was one thing I had noticed: Dylan wasn’t a talker, like the other boys I'd known. Or Terry. He took his time with responses, as if weighing them. "It's only a feeling, but if Uncle knew what was coming, he could have... ended his life, you know, before. Or maybe even taken a cure, himself."
"He said in the video that there was only enough for one."
"Yeah, but that was a few years ago. What if he found more? Or what if—" He cast a glance to me and stopped.
I tried to make my voice light. "Well, if there is more cure, I'd like to get in on that. Hope you don't mind."
If it wasn't too late for me already.
Dylan looked down. "I'm hoping to find out for you," he replied. “But, Clarissa, I just don't know what will happen—if I can even talk to him. Maybe it is all in my head. I don't want to get your hopes up."
Funny. Hope had never felt like a dangerous thing before now. I wasn't sure if I should clamp down on the fluttery feeling in my chest, or not.
It would hurt more if I kept hope alive, and then found out that I was doomed. What would I do?
Leave, I decided, firmly. My hand tightened on the pistol. Scratch that. I'll tell Dylan to go back to the house, and I’ll just... keep walking. I can't be around Ben if I'm going to turn into a monster.
Dylan went quiet, and so did I. Mostly, I followed him, stepping where he stepped. He was the one leading this expedition.
The moon had set, but my eyes adjusted to the lower level of light. With no clouds, there was still enough to see by.
The stars, just visible through overhead branches, went out one by one, and were replaced by graying dawn sky. To the east, the horizon tinged with pink.
I froze in place as the morning’s first griffin shriek cut through the air. My hand tightened around the grip of the pistol. It was a comforting weight, but it felt like a very small weapon for some very big monsters.
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