Or maybe it wasn’t a vision at all. Maybe I was just crazy.
Either way, I didn’t go into the house. I didn’t know why, but it felt wrong. Instead, I walked across the small concrete courtyard to the garage/airplane hangar.
My grandfather had been an amateur pilot, though no one else inherited his love of flying. The hanger door stood open. It felt inviting in a way that the house did not.
When I was a kid, the hangar had been stuffed full of old cars and whatever bits of junk and curiosities my uncle had thrown in and forgotten about. Half–done craft projects, broken dream-catchers and drums, and weird stuff he’d picked up traveling all through the world and learning about different cultures. I remembered a creepy broken totem with an eagle’s head on top.
All of that was gone. In its place were aisles upon aisles with shelves stuffed full of supplies. Canned food, seasoned wood, sheet metal, and sealed barrels of what I assumed were water. I walked down one row at random and picked up a foil package stamped MRE. Turning it over I read an expiration date five years in the future and an ingredients list a paragraph long.
A cold chill crawled up my spine. I wasn’t smart enough to imagine all this detail. The foil packet had weight in my hand. It felt real. Was I really here? Or was I in the Lake Tahoe house?
Setting the MRE aside, I walked through the hangar to the other side. The door stood open there, too.
Beyond, the land fell away at the edge of a bluff. My uncle stood there, his back to me as he gazed out to the ocean.
I joined him.
When my uncle spoke, he sounded sad. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”
I didn’t know how to feel. Relieved that he was speaking directly to me? Pissed off about what he had pulled in the cave? Grateful he had chosen me to save? Or scared about what was to come? I felt all of it, and more.
“Uncle, I don’t know what to do.”
He heaved a tired sigh. His face was still turned away from me. “You may ask three questions, only.”
Why? I almost blurted, but held back.
My first instinct was to ask the obvious question. The thing that had been on the tip of my tongue since the turning: Why had this terrible thing happened?
The thing was, the most obvious question wasn’t the best question. I burned to know why the world had flipped on its head and gone insane, but in this moment I knew I had to think like Lilly. I had to be analytical.
“When you made me drink from the tide pool, you said it was to keep me from turning. Will that cure the others, too?” I asked.
“There are places of protection scattered throughout the world—places where Medicine is strong.” My uncle waved a hand to indicate the airplane hangar, the huge house, and the beach. “I’ve built this sanctuary for you, your sister, and Terry. It is not perfect, and I’m afraid I could not include everything. But here, the unbalanced ones cannot find you. Here, there is a cure for those who have not yet succumbed. Here, you will be safe.”
I was starting to think Uncle never answered a direct question in his life. And unbalanced ones? He’d dropped that tidbit on purpose. It was important. But I had other worries. “Big Sur is hundreds of miles away. You don’t understand what it’s like out there. I almost got eaten today. They are right outside the door—” I stopped and glanced quickly at him, hoping he hadn’t taken that as one of the three questions.
My uncle just waited patiently, hands clasped in front. His face turned away.
No, I thought, suddenly. This isn’t my uncle. My uncle is dead.
I didn’t know if this was a piece of what my uncle had been, or if I was speaking to something else that had taken my uncle’s form. All I knew was that this thing wore my uncle’s face, but it was not him.
Coyote? I wondered. I knew the stories of the trickster. He was universal in most of the tribes. Coyote was known to take shapes of people, and receiving his help was almost always the definition of ‘be careful what you wish for’.
Then, I knew what my next question had to be. It was important, though I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. “High-powered electronics have stopped working.” It wasn’t technically a question, but my uncle nodded anyway. “My laptop, Lilly’s laptop and her phone. What does that have to do with what has happened to the world?”
He turned his face to me. His eyes were sunken pits, black and dead around the edges.
“It is one of the fundamental truths of this universe. Natural magic and the things that sentient beings create using tricks of physics instead of their own skills, such as high-powered electronics, are not compatible. As magic seeps back into the world, these human things will cease to function and degrade. Such is the nature of balance.”
I let out a long breath. That had definitely raised more questions than it did provide answers.
As my uncle spoke, the world began to dim around us as if the sun were a light burning out. The shadows lengthened until I couldn’t see the ocean, the edge of the bluff, or the airplane hangar. It was as if all the light had collected below my feet.
I stood knee-deep in a glowing pool—no, it was the tide pool. The same tide pool that uncle had taken me to as a child. It glowed a blue so vivid it was neon.
I had one more question, and I had to make it good.
If you were me, what would you ask, and what would be the answer?”
The thing that was not quite my uncle, smiled. It was the smile of an old, wise predator. “That is technically two questions, but since we are family,” the thing paused as if it knew I had figured out its secret, “I will allow it.” He tilted his head. “If I were you, I would ask when the window to enter Sanctuary closes. And if I were me, I would reply that you have until noon of June 22nd.”
What day was it now? I had lost track. “And if we don’t make it?”
He only smiled. That was one question too many.
“I’m scared,” I said. The words came from my heart. “Other people have joined us, Uncle. Clarissa, and Ben, and Merlot and the baby. I don’t think I can get them all here. No one ever listens to me. My father said that I was weak, and you know what? He’s right. If I tell anyone what you’ve told me, what I’ve seen here, they will think I’m crazy.”
“Perhaps.” Uncle didn’t seem disturbed at all. Then again, the man who had been my uncle was in and out of mental institutions. “Dylan, there is a saying that no man is an island. You have my son, and he is strong. There are things you could learn from him, and there are many things he can learn from you. But above that, think of everyone you know around you. Surely, they have strengths you can call upon. People who lead, people who know how to get others to follow, people who think of things that you cannot.”
I opened my mouth, then stopped. I thought of Lilly, who was so brash and rude, but was able to distill problems to their base ingredients and then tackle them analytically. Hadn’t I just been telling myself to think like her?
Merlot, who knew how to take care of Baby Jane and did her best to cheer everybody up. With everyone strung tight as a bow, a little calmness and kindness went a long way.
Terry could be a knucklehead, but he oozed the type of confidence that made people want to follow him.
So did Clarissa, and she didn’t have to resort to charm or being older and stronger than anyone else to do it. She was brave and selfless, and people wanted to follow her.
Understanding, I nodded slowly.
The room, the world itself, started to melt around me. I was aware, distantly, of my shoulders pressing against a hard surface. The floor? My body was back in the Lake Tahoe house, waiting for me.
“No, wait—!”
The thing smiled. “I cannot tell you for sure if you will succeed. The road to Sanctuary is twisted and full of danger. But I have hope for you, Dylan.”
I heard the baby whimpering not too far away, and Merlot’s efforts to quiet her.
Then, even more distantly, Uncle said, "Dylan, save my son. You must save Terry if y
ou can. Do this for me."
That was the most Uncle-like thing he’d said so far.
"I—"
My promise was lost somewhere in the mist. That's when I woke up.
9
Clarissa
I stepped forward the moment I caught the warning look in Dylan’s eyes. I wasn’t fast enough. His knees buckled, and I caught an arm, but he was all dead weight.
He went down, nearly pulling me with him.
“Dylan!” Oh no, not now…
“What’s wrong? Is he okay?” Lilly came to my side, and I caught an expression on the other girl’s face I had never seen on her before: pinched and worried.
“I think so. Help me get him on his back.”
Lilly caught me watching her. Immediately, her expression went hard again. Like a mask sliding over her face. When she spoke, her voice was derisive, “Did he actually faint?”
Yup, this was the reason why Dylan wanted to keep his blackouts to himself.
I shook my head and pressed my fingers to Dylan’s neck like I had seen doctors do on TV. It was hard to tell, and I might have been pressing too hard, but I thought I felt a pulse.
“He’s going to be fine,” I said loud enough for Merlot and Ben to hear. Hard truth: If Dylan wasn’t okay, we couldn’t do anything, and it was important the younger kids didn’t get upset.
Something slammed upstairs. More glass shattered. By the sound of it, there wasn’t going to be any windows left in the house.
“Move him to the back of the room, just in case,” Terry said. He hadn’t budged from his spot in front of the door. He looked brave like that. Ready to defend us all in case the griffins broke through.
But thanks to him, we had nowhere else to run. No other choice but to stand our ground.
“How are we supposed to move him?” Lilly snapped at her cousin. “He weighs like two of us.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “He’ll come around in a couple of minutes.”
Wrong thing to say. Lilly’s dark eyes fixed on me. “How do you know?”
“Give him chocolate,” Ben piped up from the back. “Phillip Renner from my class fainted one time, and Miss Browning gave him chocolate because he was hypa—No. Hypoglac—”
“Shut up,” Terry gestured to the door with the point of his rifle. Nothing had banged against it since Dylan fell, but the message to keep quiet was clear.
I didn’t care.
“Don’t you tell him to shut up.” In a flash, I was on my feet. My knee twinged, but I ignored it. The urge to smack Terry was too strong. I wanted to grab his rifle away and beat his pretty face in with it.
This is your fault. This is all your fault, and if we die here, I swear I’ll make sure you go first, I wanted to say. But I knew if I let those words out I would loosen the reins on my anger and that… that wasn’t a good idea.
After all, an hour ago I’d beaten a griffin to death with a railroad tie.
Terry couldn’t have known that, but he blinked at me and his shoulders loosened. There was real regret in his eyes, which took me by surprise.
“I’m sorry, okay?” he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. When had I moved so close to him? “I know I screwed up, but we can’t fall apart right now. I’ll guard the door. Keep my cousin safe for me, all right?”
I took a deep breath. Red faded from my vision, and I realized my hands were balled into fists. No, it wasn’t all right… Or maybe I was overreacting. I never used to get angry like this. What was happening to me?
I turned away.
From her spot at her brother’s side, Lilly watched me warily.
Not knowing what else to do, I picked up the bat Dylan had dropped and stood nearby. Just in case.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, broken by thumping our heads and griffin hunting cries. I picked out at least seven different voices in the house. Only a small percentage of the ones I’d seen outside. Those were probably busy fighting over the bodies on the porch.
Eventually the noise toned down to squabbling griffinish chitters. They had found food, or were done fighting each other and were eating the loser. Or a little of column A and a little of column B, as my mom used to say.
“Are they going to leave?” Merlot asked, breaking the silence. Baby Jane had fallen asleep while chewing on the corner of a blanket. Even from across the room, I saw tear tracks down the baby’s face. She was going to be thirsty and grumpy when she woke up. A grumpy baby was a loud baby. That was going to be a problem—
Dylan sat up with a gasp.
“Have a nice nap?” Lilly asked. She stood, exchanging places with me as I knelt by Dylan’s side.
“Are you okay?” I touched his forehead. No fever, but I knew he had been without water for too long. Why had I let him do that to himself?
Dylan’s dark gaze darted around the room, confused, until he focused on me. The answer on his face was clearly ‘No’, but he nodded and sat up.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled. Then he let out a long breath and put his head in his hands.
I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Dylan?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “Headache.”
“You are such a woman,” Lilly scoffed, and turned to join Merlot, Ben, and the baby on the other side of the room.
I don’t know why I expected Dylan to react—Some of the things Lilly said were outright cruel, and if Ben ever spoke to me that way I wouldn’t let it go—but Dylan didn’t even blink.
“Can you fight if you need to?” Terry asked.
“Yeah.” Dylan reached to grab the pool stick laying nearby. His fingers shook.
I bent close and whispered, “Did you have a vision? With your uncle?”
He took another deep breath and nodded very slightly. His eyes were haunted.
What did he tell you? I thought. What did you see?
I figured it was evening when the griffins started shrieking along with the setting sun. I never noticed it before, but it was a different kind of cry than the noises they made while hunting. A longer call, more drawn out. Still creepy, though.
As we listened, hunkered down in the basement, the voices moved away. I think the griffins liked to roost up in trees. Not inside houses, thank God. There weren’t any new thumps, scratching, or any other sounds from overhead.
After two straight hours of silence, we unlocked the basement door.
It wasn’t easy. It took Terry and I working together to shove the door open. Even with my knee bothering me, I could still throw my weight around. One of the huge thumps we’d heard had been an armoire knocked down the stairs. It landed against the basement door. From the claw marks on the other side, it might have even saved us.
Edging the door open, I listened in the stairwell for breathing or feathers mantling, or anything else that suggested an animal the size of a horse was waiting to pounce.
That was one thing in our favor. Griffins were noisy.
Nothing.
Terry had the gun, so he went out first. I followed with Dylan behind me. Everybody else trooped after.
The kitchen was in splinters. Sharp claws had raked open the cabinets and what was left of the counter tops. Open jars and plastic food containers were spread all over the place. Some had holes large enough to be made by sharp beaks. The refrigerator was knocked over, and I didn’t even want to look at the pantry. The open door told me enough.
Most, if not all the food, was gone.
Ben bent and held up a feather the length of his forearm. Pure white, it glowed dimly in the dark. For an insane moment the feathers under my shoulder itched in sympathy.
Baby Jane made a soft wail. Ben was the one who took her from Merlot’s arms, offering to change the diaper for once. He was a good kid.
I moved to the living room. The couches were upended, and stuffing from the cushions was spread everywhere. A big gooey splotch told me the griffins pooped like regular birds, too.
Up above, the stars glittered coldly through a la
rge hole in the ceiling. It went straight through the roof. How in the world did they do that?
There had been several griffin bodies on the porch outside. Now, the porch was clear except for scattered feathers and a few stains of blood.
Our food was gone. Our shelter, the one place where we could be kind of safe, was ruined.
I kicked something—I couldn’t see what it was—but it clattered and startled Merlot into turning around.
“Sorry,” I muttered. Then we both jumped as what was left of the back door slammed shut.
“I think that was Dylan,” Merlot muttered.
I hesitated. I wanted to know exactly what he saw—was there a cure?—but he probably needed to process. “Give him a minute, then I’ll get him.”
“Okay. Oh, hey look.” Merlot let out a huff of a laugh and bent to yank something free from the wreckage. It was Lilly’s white board, now warped from being knocked down and stepped on. “At least this survived.”
The light from the stars streaming in hit the board unevenly, dimming out Lilly’s precise handwriting in a glare in places and brightening it in others.
The word ‘trees’ stuck out at me, and ‘griffins’ and ‘fire’.
“Wait a minute.” I stepped forward and took the board from her. I held it between my hands. The little foil stars decorated Lilly’s bullet points in order of weirdness. My eyes jumped to the bullets with the most stars.
The griffins. The trees. The weirdly burnt corpses (one looked like a mall mannequin, I’d remembered thinking), the girl Merlot saw who couldn’t breathe. She’d gurgled.
The last one didn’t fit in with the half-theory that had come to my mind. But... you couldn’t breathe if you were drowning. If your lungs filled with water...
Water.
“That’s it,” I said, looking at Merlot. “Or, at least part of it. Look.” I turned the white board back to her and pointed at the griffins. “Air.” I pointed at the trees. “Earth.” The burnt corpses. “Fire.” And, finally, the girl who couldn’t breathe. “I bet anything her lungs filled with water.”
Under Wicked Sky_Book 2 Page 9