by Amy Marie
“Wait here,” Darcy commands, and he disappears through the trapdoor. In a few moments, he returns to guide me. As we climb up through the trapdoor, I stare in awe at the beauty of the space.
Decorative wood surrounds us in gleaming black walnut. I stand in the center of a stage, surrounded by wooden pews and balconies, and crowned with an intricate chandelier. Candles glow all around.
There’s a grand piano to the side of the stage with more candles, champagne, and glasses waiting for us.
“What’s this?” I ask, giddy with excitement.
“Your sister told me of your love for the theater. This is Sander’s theater in Memorial Hall. It has hosted box office performances and famous events alike. I saw Winston Churchill speak here once. The wood offers quite an acoustic experience.”
I turn in admiration of the space. It’s utterly beautiful, the epitome of classic grace.
“We have not had a moment to ourselves since the finding of the Statera. I thought this might be a nice first date,” he bows, then takes a seat at the piano.
“Second date,” I say, saluting him with my champagne flute, clinking his glass, and taking a sip.
He raises a brow in question.
“The projector room,” I shrug. “How easily you forget that I arranged our first date, and consequently, it led to our first kiss.”
“Second date, then,” he bows his head as his fingers carry over the keys of the piano in a beautiful tune. The music fills the room and the notes dance up my arms in small tingles.
I watch my dark, handsome counterpart, and I’m reminded of my favorite musical. I giggle at the picture in my head as I take another sip of champagne.
“What?” he asks.
“You look gothic,” I say, “Like my own phantom, playing his opera.” I sit next to him on the seat. “What sort of music of the night are you playing?”
“Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven. It suits me,” he says as his fingers dance over the keys.
“It sounds so sad,” I say, frowning.
“It is dark,” he says, looking up at me as he plays.
I feel the keys hit me, every tone striking a chord within me and speaking to my soul in Darcy’s language. The language of loss and pain in his cursed life.
I want to heal that pain. I want to shine light on his darkness.
I move between him and the piano and he stops playing. I sit on the keys and his hands move to me, pulling me onto him. The silence that follows is drowned in our combined breath. I kiss him, with everything that I have in me. As long as I’ve tried to fight the ghosts of the past that have haunted me, I know there’s nothing short of this man that could satisfy me. I’ve fought all reason, not wanting to give in to inclinations of the past. But Darcy is my home.
“I love you,” I whisper into his mouth.
“And I you,” he says, pushing my body down on the stage for all the ghosts of the audience to see.
The piano is silent, but there’s a music to our movement. Our bodies know this dance. Even though it’s new to me in this life, it’s instinctual, and it’s never felt more natural.
The charge takes over. We express our love in the way we have through all the ages.
There’s only one way to describe it.
Darkness shining.
Chapter 15
Something causes me to wake before my eyes have even opened. I inhale the sweet scent of soap and cedar, and relax in the comfort of knowing I’m exactly where I belong. Last night brought me home.
I peek one eye open at the room where I was first brought into the sanctuary. The curtained canopy of the bed looks just as I remember it. Other things have certainly changed, but my insuppressible smile suggests it’s been for the better.
The idea of fetching some breakfast in bed inspires me to move, but strong arms close around me with other motives. Darcy and I laugh and play, giddy in our new intimacy. Or rather, renewed intimacy.
Sometime later, we resign to face the day and make our way out to the great room. Char and Rafe join us halfway through making breakfast.
“Oh, my! French toast is always for special occasions,” Char wiggles her eyebrows at me. “How did last night go?”
“Quite lovely, thank you.” I swat at her playfully with a wooden spoon from the drawer.
“How about you, Darky? Everything still working properly after a couple centuries?” Rafe teases, sitting at the table.
Darcy laughs at ease with Rafe. His permanent scowl is missing today, making him appear close to Rafe’s age.
“Do you require some tutelage on the matter? I have had a few lifetimes of experience. I am certain I could give you some pointers.”
“He’s not angry and he’s telling jokes. What did you do to him?” Rafe laughs.
We all sit and enjoy our breakfast, laughing and joking. I’m basking in the glow of feeling at home for the first time in a long time. Uncle Mike joins us and we do our best to hold on to the relaxation of the morning.
After a few rounds of stories and laughter, Uncle Mike calls us back to the reality of the task at hand. “Shall we discuss our next plan of action?” he asks.
“Where do we even start?” asks Char.
“Lilly said we’ll have to venture out to find the other souls,” I tell the table, remembering my visit yesterday. “She said they haven’t been drawn to us yet, so we’ll have to go look for them.”
“Dr. Higgins is following those leads he mentioned last night,” Uncle Mike suggests. “He should be getting back to me soon about the other tribes. But I think for now, the fire soul should be put on the proverbial back-burner.”
“Alright, on to the air. Any updates on our pilot?” Darcy quickly asks Rafe in distraction. He knows me too well, and doesn’t want me dwelling on the incident in Oklahoma. Grateful, I try staying focused.
“I checked the databases this morning. So far, no hits on any names that directly mean air,” Rafe shrugs in disappointment.
I let out my own puff of air in disappointment.
“The souls are supposed to be drawn to us,” Darcy says. “When Nora moved here, Dylan almost crossed her path without either of them even knowing. There must be something that has to do with our air soul that will link him to finding one of us.”
As if the mention of his name summoned him, Dylan walks through the kitchen door to join us.
“Mornin’ everyone,” he greets us. He lays a metal object on the table in between Char and me. “I told you your license plate needed fixing. I had some errands to run, and I saw it was lying next to your SUV this morning. I’ll have to get some tools to fix it for you.”
“Thank you,” Char says. “I never would’ve noticed. You probably saved me from getting a ticket!”
“Why all the sour faces?” Dylan asks.
“Discussing our next move,” Rafe explains. “Trying to figure out what to do next.”
“What brought you to Boston, Dylan?” I question him. “What drove you to find us? Maybe there’s something we can send out. Some sort of signal to the other souls?”
“I couldn’t say exactly,” Dylan shrugs. “I’ve always had dreams, I just never understood them. But I had this overwhelming desire to come to America. It was a twist of fate that I was able to take over the local aquatics safety company in the New England area. That was my deciding factor to stay here. But once I was here, I knew I needed to be here. The dreams changed and I started to see your faces.”
“It’s convenient your work brought you here,” says Rafe, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Maybe our pilot flies here!” Char speaks out in sudden inspiration. “We could stake out the airport and watch for him.”
“Boston Logan must have a thousand flights a day. It’d be impossible to track every pilot,” says Rafe, shaking his head.
“Not to mention security,” says Uncle Mike.
“And we are near several major airports, it may not necessarily be Boston,” Darcy points out.
My
lips pucker in thought. There must be something we’re overlooking. Something simple.
“There must be something,” says Dylan, mirroring my thoughts. “When you had your dream, and realized I could be a lifeguard, you looked to the first connection in your life. How are either of you connected with flying?” He looks between Darcy and me.
I shrug, eyes wide. I’ve only been on a plane a few times in my life. My anxiety never lets me enjoy the experience.
Darcy shakes his head. “I cannot think of anything specifically. I do not know any pilots. Perhaps we could scope out some of the local flight schools?” he suggests.
“Lilly said they haven’t been drawn here, so they wouldn’t be close by yet. I don’t think that will work,” Dylan says running his hands through his hair.
“Okay,” Rafe concedes. “Maybe we should be looking at some different places that are famous for flight and see if you’ve ever been there.” He stands up in excitement and starts pacing.
“There’s NASA. The astronauts of the Johnson Space Center in Houston,” says Uncle Mike. “Though I don’t see the connection. Have either of you even been to Texas?”
I shake my head in unison with Darcy.
“There is North Carolina,” says Darcy. “The Wright brothers flew the first airplane near Kitty Hawk. I remember reading about it the other day.”
“I’ve never been there either,” I say sitting down at the table. My fingers tap along the table top as my mind struggles to come up with a connection. The click of my fingernails vibrates the metal license plate nearby.
I glance at the plate lying next to me on the table, lost in thought. My eyes focus in and out. After a moment, the words along the bottom of the Ohio plate jump out to me.
Birthplace of Aviation.
My heart pounds in my throat. My mouth can’t keep up with what my mind is processing.
I grab the plate and read the letters at the bottom over again.
It says Birthplace of Aviation.
“It’s...it’s…” I point to the plate, unable to form the words.
Darcy looks to me and then to the license plate. Realization dawns on his face and he says the word before I can get it out.
“Ohio.”
We have to go home.
“The Wright Brothers. They were from Ohio! There’s a museum. We’ve been there before, remember Char?” I jump up and pace the room.
“Barely. Dad took us there,” she responds.
“Yes! Wasn’t it on some sort of military base?” I ask, struggling to remember.
“The Wright Patterson Air Force Base?” Uncle Mike interjects.
“Yes,” Char and I say together.
“My dad took us there a couple times when we were younger,” Char says. “He loved looking at the planes. I think it was in Dayton. Not too far from where we grew up.”
That familiar feeling tingles in the air, telling me we’re on the right path.
“We’re all going together, right?” I say, and it turns into a question to everyone in the room.
“I think we should, yes,” says Uncle Mike. “It will be good to see Selma and Eddie again,” he rubs his hands together in excitement.
“I’ve never been to Ohio before. Might as well check it off the list,” Dylan says.
“I’ve been craving a visit back home! I guess you’ll be meeting my parents!” Char says to Rafe with a blush.
My eyes meet Darcy’s. I hadn’t thought of that. How’s this going to work?
“Will you leave your sanctuary?” I ask him.
“You are my sanctuary now. I think it is best if we all go together. Somebody has to keep you out of trouble. We will have to think of a way to explain my absences during the day to your parents.”
I smile and we all set to work on our plans to travel home.
Chapter 16
Char, Uncle Mike, and I sit at gate A19 in Boston Logan airport. I look out the window to the large double engine airliner connected to the jet bridge. The windows of the cockpit are too dark to see inside.
Are our pilots in there? Could one of them be the air elemental? That would be wishful thinking. Nothing about this mission has been so easy.
“They’re calling our group number. Time to board!” says Char. She’s been so excited since we found out we’re visiting home.
I have mixed feelings. On one hand, I’m excited to see my adopted parents and go home to family and friends again; everything that’s familiar. But on the other hand, everything in my life has changed so much. I’m not sure I can go home and just pretend my world isn’t completely different now.
I’m glad Darcy is coming to Ohio. He’ll help me connect my old life with the new. I laugh to myself at that.
Isn’t that all he’s ever done?
Worry overruns my mind for perhaps the millionth time that day about my dark knight. He’s traveling with Rafe and Dylan by nightfall. The three of them will be making the twelve-hour drive beginning at sunset tonight.
The three of us will be waiting on pins and needles until they arrive tomorrow morning. I’m praying they can travel safely past the destructor.
We reach our seats earlier than expected.
“First class?” I ask Uncle Mike with one brow raised.
“I had no idea! I had Mrs. Spacey book the flight, my dear,” Uncle Mike shrugs with a sly smile.
I take the single seat and allow Char and Uncle Mike to sit together and chat some more about the arrangements.
“Now, the boys will be staying in a hotel separately. They should arrive before sunrise tomorrow morning if they follow a strict schedule.” I overhear Uncle Mike going through a list of plans and schedules to Char.
My worry has me exhausted. I reach for a blanket and rest my head to the side to look out the window.
Our plane rolls along the taxiway preparing for takeoff and my nervous tension takes over.
The properties of air and lift and drag all rush through my mind, coming to a halt on the vision of a young hot air balloonist taking his own flight, and ending in a fiery crash landing.
My hands grip the arms of my seat as we take the runway. The engines run up, and with a thrust we begin our takeoff.
The whooshing noise in the cabin is ignored by all but me.
Rafe’s not here to sing a song and make me laugh.
Darcy’s not here to hold my hand in case I die.
We lift off the ground and I close my eyes in panic.
Taking in deep breaths, I count to ten.
I open my eyes and we’re in the air. The view out the window shows we’re safely climbing to cruising altitude. The regular noises of the cabin fill my ears. A baby wails, Char laughs, the flight attendant call sign beeps, and the fasten seat belt noise rings. My terror finally subsides.
Nothing like a good panic attack to start the trip.
I call for the flight attendant.
“Hi there, what can I get you?” A young blond woman bends next to me. Her uniform is blue and matronly. Her nametag says Aria.
“Hi. Can I get some ginger ale and crackers please?” I ask.
“Upset stomach?” she asks, smiling as if it’s something pleasant to smile about.
“Just nerves, I think,” I admit, giving a quick smile back.
She hands me an extra pack of crackers and a pillow with a wink. Okay, maybe her outfit isn’t so matronly after all.
I thank the woman with a genuine smile and work to settle my stomach. After a few minutes, I lay my head to the side and doze off to the humming of the atmosphere around us.
I’m searching for air. What does it sound like?
It’s too quiet.
My heart beat is too loud.
My eyes are closed. If I concentrate hard enough I can hear the flicker of a flame. The wisp of smoke.
There’s chanting in the distance, or perhaps it’s music. Maybe it’s the language of the souls?
The sweet burning scent of Cyprus surrounds me.
My eyes open
and I’m sitting in a meditative stance. My palms are pressed together with my fingers pointing up to my chin.
I feel like I’m about to do some serious yoga.
A low voice chants nearby.
Across from me, a man prays quietly with his eyes still closed.
My mind finally catches up and concludes I’m in a dream of the ancient past.
I remember. We’re attempting to balance our energies. Meditation is one of the ways we’ve been instructed to bring forth the memories of the past, to reach the Smara.
The reminiscence!
I take in my surroundings. We’re meditating in some sort of shrine.
The dark soul and I have been left alone to concentrate. The priests think we have discovered the secrets to reincarnation. They think we have been blessed by the gods.
They don’t understand that our connection is something different, the balance of the Atman – the light and dark.
They don’t understand that our power is from the energy itself. The one Brahman. They keep wanting to define our knowledge. They want to create texts to span the ages. To idolize gods based on their powers. They don’t understand that the true energy has no definition, just what we interpret. They are putting limits on something that is limitless.
Thamish.
The name springs to my mind as my subconscious recognizes yet another handsome dark soul. Even though the name was not said out loud, he opens his eyes as if reading my thoughts.
“Preshti, you are not concentrating.” His chiding, even in the ancient language, is interpreted easily in my mind.
“I am distracted,” I hear myself respond. “These priests seek our knowledge for their own greed. They want power. They do not fear destruction. They have transformed Rudra the destructor, and now idolize him.”
I glance to the statue of Shiva in the shrine.
“Look at the serpent around his neck. It mocks us,” I say.
“We cannot control their interpretations. The only thing we can control is our balance and the power within us. Every soul is responsible for themselves,” he explains.
I sigh with one last look at the statue, and focus on the third eye.