The Dysasters

by P. C. Cast

  Mark’s dark gaze had returned to the water, but at her last question his eyes found hers again. “I love him. He’s my father. I’ll always love him. But Eve, that doesn’t make him any less a monster. What you have to ask yourself is when will it be time to slay the monster?”

  “Oh, god, Mark … I don’t know!”

  “I hope you do know before he destroys us all.”

  Eve deflated. Her shoulders sagged. She filtered sand through her fingers, trying to let the warmth of the sunbaked granules soothe her. “Okay, I hear you. And I suppose Matthew and Luke feel the same way?”

  “It’s getting harder and harder to tell with those two. If I try to push them into talking about Father, Luke starts to heat up. I can’t tell if that’s because he’s as pissed as I am, or because he’s scared or still in denial.”

  “Or maybe because he’s on Father’s side. You have to consider that, Mark.”

  Mark sighed and splashed salt water on his face and chest. “I’m aware of that. It’s one reason I quit questioning him.”

  “What’s the other?”

  “I’m pretty sure Father would know something was going on if Luke lit our cottage on fire.”

  “That’d be pretty obvious,” Eve agreed. “What about Matthew?”

  Mark shook his head. “I think he feels the same as I do, but it’s even harder to tell with him.”

  “He’s disappearing more and more?”

  “Well, yes and no. He starts to fade away when he’s stressed, but that’s how he’s been for years. What’s changed with him started a decade ago.”

  Eve nodded. “Yeah, when he realized his connection with the Internet.”

  “It’s his thing, that’s for sure, and we all thought it was a great outlet and a damn convenient talent, but it’s changing him, especially this past year when we’ve been relying on him more and more to try to track Foster and Cora and the others.” Mark met her gaze again. “I swear, Eve, someday he’s going to disappear inside one of those damn computer programs of his.”

  “I should spend more time with the three of you. I knew Matthew was struggling, but I’ve been so wrapped up in myself I haven’t wanted to face it. I’m sorry, Mark.”

  “Eve, let’s be honest. You’re only wrapped up in yourself because our father is using you as a living drug for his addiction. When was his last fix?” Mark shot the question at her.

  “The night we got back from Missouri.”

  “That was three days ago. Three days. I saw him this morning, Eve. He looked like he was ready to crawl out of his skin. Do you remember when he used to only syphon your jewels when you’d manifested one because you invoked your element?”

  “Yes.” Eve drew her knees up and hugged them tight, resting her chin against them. “How could I not remember? It wasn’t bad then. Father was only helping me.”

  Mark snorted. “I think that’s more of his bullshit manipulation, but I know that’s an argument I’m not going to win. So, how long did he used to go between crystals?”

  Eve raised her head from her knees and narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You know that answer as well as I do.”

  “Yeah, I do. But as well as you? I don’t think so. I think you’re so mired in Father’s addiction that you can’t see how bad it is.”

  “That’s bullshit. No one knows how bad it is with Father except me. I’m the one he uses! Me, Mark! Not you—not Matthew—not Luke. It’s always been me!” Eve’s voice broke as tears spilled down her smooth, ebony cheeks.

  “Sssh, don’t cry, little sis. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Mark reached out and caught a tear on his finger. The drop of water balanced there, perfectly preserved through his bond with the element. Then he opened his mouth and dropped it onto his tongue, making Eve shake her head as she wiped her eyes.

  “It’s disgusting when you do that,” she said.

  “But you stopped crying. Eve, I’m just trying to get you to think. You love him too much. You’re too loyal to him.”

  “How can you be too loyal to someone who has raised you?” Eve said.

  He answered her question with a question. “How long can he go between fixes?”

  “It used to be a month or so.”

  “But now?”

  “Since we lost Cora and Foster a year ago he’s gotten a lot worse.” Eve felt smaller and smaller as she spoke, but the words seemed to pour out of her, her brother’s questions setting her free from the dam of loyalty that usually kept them contained. “At first I understood. He was upset. He loves Foster and Cora. When they disappeared I thought it was going to destroy him.”

  “So you invoked your element, knowing the crystal that appeared would need to be syphoned by him, and he would get the benefit of whatever properties that crystal contained.”

  Eve nodded sadly, dropping her head to rest on her knees again. “It’s my fault, Mark. I insisted. And I only invoked crystals that would calm and soothe him. I thought … I thought I was helping.”

  “Little sis, it’s not your fault he’s an addict. That’s like blaming the bartender for pouring an alcoholic a shot of whiskey.”

  “It feels like it’s my fault.”

  “How many days can he go between fixes now?” Mark repeated the question gently.

  “Three. At the most.”

  “Damn. I knew it was getting worse. I didn’t realize it was that bad.” He took her hand in his. “You have to start telling me these things. We have to work together.”

  “To what end, Mark? Do you really think I could ever harm Father?”

  “I think you won’t let anyone hurt your brothers—not even Father.”

  Instead of responding, Eve’s gaze went to the horizon, which was when she noticed the blue August sky had begun to change to a watercolor pallet of yellows and oranges as the sun descended into the ocean. She squeezed Mark’s hand before dropping it and standing, brushing sand from her shorts.

  “I have to go. I’ve left him alone too long.”

  “You’re going to conjure a crystal.”

  Mark hadn’t phrased it as a question, but Eve answered anyway. “Yes. I have to, Mark.”

  “Okay … okay. I get that, but can I make a suggestion?”

  “Of course.”

  “Think about what you need instead of what he needs,” Mark said.

  Eve’s dark eyes widened. “You mean stop using amethyst all the time like I have been.”

  “What are amethyst’s properties?”

  Eve answered by rote. She knew the properties of every crystal, stone, jewel, and rock that rested in the bosom of earth so well that her response was as easy as breathing. “Amethyst is a stone of spirituality and contentment. It focuses energies on calming and soothing. It also facilitates stability, strength, and true peace.”

  “I can see why you choose that crystal for him. But if I told you that along with being soothed I need help focusing on my analytical reasoning and protection against fear, envy, rage, as well as a mental boost—something that would help get rid of my sadness so that I could think more clearly—what crystal would you conjure from earth if I needed those things?”

  Eve chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully and then said, “Well, there are a few that would work, but my instinct says carnelian would be best.” She studied her brother. “Mark, I would let you syphon from me. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, little sis! No, no, no. I struggle with my own demons enough. I don’t need anything added to them. There’s a reason Father’s addicted. He’s not bonded to earth. He wasn’t meant to share the element with you. But you are earth. Conjure carnelian and hold it close to you for as long as you can. He can last another few hours.” Mark stood, also brushing sand from his tall, lean body. “I’ll go to him now, buy you some time.”

  Eve hugged Mark tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder.

  “We’re in this together. Don’t ever forget that,” Mark said.

  * * *

  Eve found the
true center of the island easily. She had, of course, been there countless times over the past thirty years. She’d been the first to move to the island—several years before her brothers joined her. Unlike her, each of the boys had had parents, though they had been eager to grant the great Dr. Rick Stewart full custody of their children after the boys began showing signs of what was diagnosed as acute early onset schizophrenia.

  Eve had never known any other father except Rick Stewart, and the closest thing to a mother she’d had was Cora Stewart, but she’d only had her for a few years and Cora had never known the truth about Eve. Not about her bond with earth, nor about her conception.

  Eve shook herself mentally. It served no purpose to allow the past to torment her. It couldn’t be changed. It could only be endured.

  But how much longer could Eve endure?

  The centermost spot of the island used to be marked by a cluster of poinciana trees and a small park that held a wisteria-covered gazebo and a fountain that was a replica of the mermaid mother and child fountain in San Francisco’s Ghirardelli Square. The poincianas were in full flower, filling the abandoned park with the scent of caramel. The fountain had been dry for five years and wisteria had devoured the gazebo—though Eve thought that made it charming and magical.

  Ducking inside the curtain of green vines and fragrant, grape-like clusters of purple flowers, Eve felt as much at peace as she was able to on an island. There was a long metal box under the dilapidated bench seat that ran along the inside circle of the gazebo, and from it Eve took a thick meditation pillow. She went to the center of the gazebo, placed the pillow on the wood floor, and sat on it cross-legged. Then she closed her eyes and spread her arms wide as if she was expecting to wrap someone within her embrace.

  And Eve was embracing someone—she embraced Earth.

  It was an understatement to say that she reached with her mind to find the thick curtain of vines that covered the gazebo. It was more accurate, and yet incomplete, to say that she reached with her mind, her spirit, and her body to join her essence with the growing plants. She felt them and her full lips lifted in a contented smile. Wisteria might look like a delicate blooming vine, but there was nothing delicate in its nature. She could feel the plant’s strength and tenacity. Eve joined with it and followed it down … down … down … As deep as she could go before hitting the water table.

  Eve rested there a moment, surrounded by the fecund earth, drawing comfort from its beautiful mysteries. When she felt ready, Eve sent out her call. With every fiber of her spirit and the altered DNA that bound her to earth, Eve focused on what she sought. When she spoke her mouth did not open, yet her voice echoed eerily all around her from the leaves of the wisteria as the vines swayed with the weight of her need.

  “Come to me, carnelian.

  I need your protection against

  Envy

  Fear

  Rage

  I need your clarity. Stimulate my

  Intelligence

  Inquisitiveness

  Instinct

  I need you to dispel

  Apathy and passivity

  In return I give you my body, for you are mine and I am yours.

  Come to me, carnelian!”

  Eve welcomed the rush of sensation that opened within her like a flower bursting into bloom. She was filled with a sudden clarity that had her intelligent mind whirring with possibilities, and though there was pain—the pain of the perfect russet crystal that instantly began to swell just beneath the skin of her right shoulder—Eve welcomed it, accepted it, and appreciated it. The power of the earth was balm to her harried body and soul and she wished desperately that she could remain there, communing with her element, being filled with protection and clarity.

  She could not remain there, though. What would happen to her brothers? To her father? To her world?

  Eve’s eyes opened and she stood quickly, shoving the pillow back into the box and hurrying from the gazebo.

  Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It was simple, really.

  They shouldn’t be searching for Foster. That was a dead end. Cora had made certain the girl could hide from them.

  They shouldn’t be searching for Tate, either. That he hadn’t surfaced—not to bury his parents—not to return home to what was left of his life—meant that Foster had convinced him to remain hidden with her. If that’s how the boy wants to play this, then they should accommodate him. Tate should have to stay off the grid. If he wants to act like he doesn’t exist, perhaps he shouldn’t exist, or at least not legally. Tate is following Foster’s lead, but he’s just following. He’s not like Foster. He wasn’t raised by smart, savvy Cora Stewart. Up until a few days ago he was a normal kid. Now he has no parents and no home.

  “He won’t want to lose his entire world,” Eve spoke aloud to the waving palms and the swaying grasses. “And he won’t want to lose anyone left in his world. So, let’s turn up the heat on good-boy Tate, and keep an eye on any family he has left. He’s going to break. He’s going to contact them, and when he does—we’ll have Tate and Foster—two for the price of one!”

  Filled with the clarity of carnelian, Eve continued speaking to the waving grasses and swaying palms.

  “We can’t make the same mistake with the water kids. They need to be drawn together. One’s already in the Gulf. The second should be on his way there, but Matthew needs to be sure of that. He needs to follow those credit card trails. And Mark—my water brother—needs to brew up something that will be impossible for them to resist…”

  Smiling with satisfaction, Eve headed to her brothers’ cottage with renewed energy and determination. Perhaps it was the sudden insight she’d gained, or maybe it was the stone’s protective properties, but as her steps lightened, so, too, did the pain in her shoulder where the carnelian crystal emerged from her skin. Eve touched it gently, thankfully.

  Mark was right. I needed this.

  As if in response a soft rain began to fall, baptizing Eve in the warmth of its gentle touch.

  13

  CHARLOTTE

  August in the Deep South was many things: hot, muggy, green, magnolia-scented, mosquito-compromised, tick-filled, gator-friendly, and hot. Really, really hot.

  Charlotte Davis hated everything about it except the magnolia-scented part. That she liked. Well, and she didn’t hate the heat too much, but only because heat meant sweat and sweat was salty and wet like the ocean. She loved the ocean most of all.

  I-85 South was a conundrum. When it passed through cities it was a nondescript superhighway of boredom, but when it cut through mile after mile of what looked like uninhabited forestlands, Charlotte thought it was almost pretty.

  She rolled down the window of her very used Ford Focus, put her hand out of the driver’s window, and let the hot, moist air surround her skin like one of those warm towels aestheticians used during facials.

  “Oh my, what I wouldn’t give for a lovely facial right now,” Charlotte spoke on a sigh, the soft Southern drawl that colored her words always more pronounced when she was alone. In Charlotte’s life, she only truly relaxed when she was alone. When she was six she’d learned that sharing too much about herself with too many people was a mistake. A big, bad mistake.

  Window still down, Charlotte breathed deeply of the humid air and just then passed a sign that blazed WELCOME TO SOUTH CAROLINA THE PALMETTO STATE. Her lips, glossed with the perfect tint of pink, lifted and, purposefully exaggerating her North Carolina drawl, Charlotte said, “Well, bless your heart, Palmetto State, but are you talkin’ ’bout the trees or the bugs?”

  Her musical laughter filled the car as she rolled up the window and turned up the volume as Etta James hit the first notes of the bluesy “At Last.” Charlotte’s smooth alto was harmonizing with Etta when her “Under the Sea” ringtone interrupted, but she didn’t mind. It was her favorite person in the world. She punched ACCEPT.

  “I did it, Grandma Myrtie! I’ve officially departed the state of North Carolina. Fo
r evah!” she said, sounding a lot like Scarlet O’Hara.

  “Oh, Charlotte, my dear! Well done! Where are you now?” Her grandma’s voice would always evoke the sweetness of the homemade caramels she would be eternally famous for making—and famous for guarding her secret recipe from the world.

  “I believe I am somewhere outside Spartanburg, South Carolina. Why do towns in South Carolina all sound so much like battle stations?”

  “Because, my dear, too many Southern menfolk think life is a battle station. Which is the only reason you’re fleeing the South.”

  “But is fleeing to Texas actually an escape?”

  “You’re not simply fleeing to Galveston. You’re going to Texas A&M to set down your water-loving roots and become who you will be for the rest of your life,” Grandma Myrtie said firmly.

  “I feel like I need to say thank you again, Grandma Myrtie.”

  “Charlotte, there is no need, but as always I appreciate your politeness.”

  “And I’ll always appreciate you blackmailing my parents so that they were forced to let me be me.”

  “Charlotte! I did not blackmail them. I just explained to your mother if she didn’t give you what you need, I would refuse to give her what she needs.”

  “Her trust fund check,” said Charlotte with an eye roll.

  “Exactly. Most of the time it’s a royal pain in my rear end to be in control of the family money, but sometimes it’s spectacularly satisfying. Using that control to force your mother to do the right thing is one of those times. To be honest, I am often thankful your parents turned out to be such dolts. Were they the people they should be, you and I might not have become—how do you put it again—besties?”