Intuition t-2

by C. J. Omololu

  “Why? So you can waste your gift teaching?”

  “Is that so bad? I teach music now. What’s the difference?”

  Mom starts to speak again, but Dad puts his hand on her arm. To my total surprise, she shuts up. “What your mother is trying to say is that it isn’t time to give up yet. Applications are still six months away, and a lot can happen in that time.”

  A knock at the door saves me from having to try to explain myself again. “I’ll get it,” I say, tossing my napkin on the table. Maybe I should bring Kat up in order to take the heat off me.

  I’m totally unprepared to see Drew at the front door. “What are you doing here?” I quickly step out onto the porch and close the door behind me. I try hard not to notice that the vintage Doors shirt he’s wearing is just tight enough to show off the muscles in his chest.

  “You didn’t give me your phone number last night,” he says. “So I had to come over and see you in person.”

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “I heard Kat tell Francesca once,” he says.

  I should have known that no random fact would go unnoticed. Or be forgotten. I lean against the door frame. “I agreed to one dinner,” I remind him.

  “And I appreciate that,” he says. “This is an invitation, not an order. There’s someone I want you to meet, but it’s going to take longer than an hour.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s a surprise.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up as he smiles.

  I hesitate. An hour-long dinner is one thing, but this sounds suspiciously like a date.

  Drew’s face turns serious, but his eyes focus on mine. “If you don’t want to see me again after this, then I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone. I promise. But you don’t want to miss this.”

  I look at Drew and then down at the ground. I’ve spent so much time running away from him, but now I’m wondering why. What else do I have to lose? “Okay,” I finally agree. “When?”

  “Friday. Eight o’clock.” He glances toward the window, and I know that Mom and Dad are watching. “Can I pick you up?”

  “I’ll meet you.” By now, that kind of answer is almost a reflex.

  “Cole, let me pick you up,” he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “I have a car, and it’s easier.” He hesitates, and I don’t fill the gap left by his silence. “The minute you want to come home, I’ll take you. I promise.”

  “Friday. Eight o’clock,” I confirm and slip back through the door, my heart pounding for no good reason.

  “Who was that?” Mom and Dad are standing by the door when I walk back in.

  “God, you scared me! What were you doing? Spying?”

  “Nice try. Who was that?” Mom repeats.

  “Just a friend. He used to work with Kat. At the store.”

  “What’s he doing hanging around here?” Dad asks, his lips set into a thin line that tells me he’s more upset than he’s letting on. He glances toward the window. “How old is he, anyway?”

  I bite my lip. They’re not going to like the answer, but it doesn’t really matter after all. “Twenty.”

  Mom crosses her arms in front of her chest, and I know immediately this is not a good answer. “He’s a man! Nobody that age has any business hanging around you. You’re just a child, for God’s sake!”

  “Child! Seriously? I’m almost seventeen!” I shout back. It’s not like I want to go out with Drew, but this kind of treatment is really getting to me. If they only knew what I’ve experienced in the past couple of months, how much I remember about being an adult, they wouldn’t treat me this way. But of course, I can never tell them. “Who I hang around with is none of your business.”

  “After what your sister pulled, it’s completely, one-hundred-percent my business.”

  My frustration boils over. I knew this would happen. “Just because Kat got out of here early doesn’t mean you have to punish me for it!” I glance up at the clock and reach for my bag. So much for happy family meals. “I have to go.”

  Dad steps into the hallway, blocking the door. “Where? I meant what I said. I don’t want you seeing that guy. I’ll get the police involved if I have to.”

  I walk up to Dad, trying hard not to cry. He’s always been the one on my side, but now he’s just parroting her talk. “If you do, then you’re going to have an empty house a lot sooner than you think.” He can’t meet my eyes, so I reach around him to open the door. Mom starts to say something else, but I close the door behind me before I have to listen to her.

  “Have you been practicing?” Janine asks, taking a bite of her salad as we walk toward the Faculty Glade behind her office.

  I grin, finally feeling better after my fight with Mom and Dad. Janine sounds just like I do when I question Zander. “Sort of,” I say. “Sometimes, if I’m not paying attention, it feels like other people’s emotions are shooting at me from all directions. Other times, when I’m really concentrating, I can’t get anything at all.” It’s a little weird to talk to her now. Like the subject of Griffon is just under everything we’re saying, like a death we’re not ready to acknowledge.

  Janine nods thoughtfully. She’s either really good at hiding it, or it doesn’t bother her at all. “I’ve read about that happening to other empaths. You have to be careful not to take on the emotions of those around you.”

  “How do I avoid it? I can’t seem to control any of it.”

  “From what I’ve researched, it’s a matter of controlling the magnetic field that the brain generates from neuronal activity. That’s what you’re feeling when you read people. And that’s what you’re going to have to learn to block as you get more sensitive.”

  “Mom just thinks I’m an emotional mess,” I say. I squeeze my eyes shut. That’s coming way too close to Griffon territory. “I mean, I just wish I could tell her about all of this.” I think about how it felt to have her arms around me. “It feels like there’s so much separating us now. So much I can’t say to her.”

  “Maybe you can someday,” Janine says. “I told Griffon’s father about us, and he’s been able to keep our secret for almost twenty years. You just have to be pretty selective. And the consequences aren’t as high as they were in the old days. Not many people get burned at the stake for being witches anymore.”

  That’s what Griffon said the day he told me about being Akhet—that the person who helped him was executed for sorcery. “How’s Griffon?” I ask, regretting the question the minute it leaves my lips.

  She grins. “He’s fine. Busy setting up the lab in the South Bay.” She pauses. “He was asked to give a big speech at an energy symposium the other day. It’s on the Internet—you should take a look. It’s a side of him you don’t get to see often.” I can hear the proud mom in her talking and see how hard she’s trying to keep the conversation neutral. Janine looks around at the grassy area. “How about we sit under that tree over there?”

  The sun is blazingly bright, so we settle onto the soft mat of redwood needles at the base of the tree. I take a bite of my apple and watch three women in brightly colored saris walking on the path. The one in the middle is wearing one of emerald green, and the silk is so shiny I can almost feel it on my fingertips.

  The darkness is total, complete and unwavering. I suspect I’ll get used to it—at least, that’s what they tell me. I wonder if someday I’ll forget about sight altogether. If one day I won’t be able to remember what Mum’s face looks like, or the bright green color of her favorite sari. If someday, things will be as dark inside my head as they are beyond my useless eyes.

  Spicy breakfast smells drift through the air and I roll over, wondering what time it is. I can hear Mum and Daddy whispering in the other room, even though they think I’m still asleep; if I listen, I can hear what they’re saying.

  “We can’t have Ramesh begging in the streets for the rest of his life,” Daddy says. “What other choice do we have?”

  “But he’s still a child! How can you think of sending him away?
Especially in his condition?”

  Daddy sighs and I know this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. “He’s not a child, Hamsa, he’s almost twelve. And it’s precisely because of his condition that we have no choice. There are no facilities for blind people in India. His best option for the future is to go to school in England. They can teach him how to get around with a cane and to read with his fingers.” They’re quiet for a moment, and I can picture Daddy taking Mum’s hand, trying to convince her.

  “Read with his fingers? Can they really do that?”

  “They can,” Daddy says. “I’ve heard all about it from Vikram’s cousin, who knows someone who saw it firsthand. The war is over, and I’m told that the Germans’ bombs did very little damage to that part of the country in any case. If he’s to have any chance at all, we have to take this opportunity.”

  Mum’s voice still carries worry. “What about the rumors of partition? What if something happens and he’s so far away?”

  “If there is partition, it won’t be violent. Everything will be civilized and constitutional. In any case, he’ll be safe there. We have to trust that we’re doing the best for him.”

  Varun’s breathing is slow and steady and I know that neither their conversation nor the smells from the kitchen have woken him. A few minutes later, I hear soft footsteps in the doorway. Mum pauses long enough so that I can smell the perfumed oil she always wears, and I know that my eyes are so damaged from the firecracker that she has no idea if I’m asleep or not.

  “I’m awake,” I say quietly.

  “You have ears like a hyena these days,” she says. I hear her voice change pitch as she smiles, although I have a feeling that it’s more forced than usual. “Food is almost ready.”

  “I’ll wake Varun,” I say, throwing the covers off. At first I was glad to be staying home while everyone else went to school, but lately I’ve been missing it. Even Miss Mehta’s dreary history class might be worth sitting through if only to get out of this house.

  “Thank you, dear,” Mum says. I know that she’s wondering whether I’ve overheard them, but I’m not giving anything away. I’m not sure how I feel about going to a blind school in England. On the one hand, it would be better than staying in the house all day, every day. On the other, it’s one of the most terrifying prospects I can imagine. All alone in a strange country, not even being able to see where I am when I get lost. We listened to the war on the radio, and even though Daddy says that they didn’t hit that part of England, I still picture myself wandering among bombed-out buildings while airplanes drone overhead like in the newsreels we saw at the cinema. I need some time to think about it, although I know that when Daddy puts his mind to something, it very rarely changes. Varun has been trying to get them to send him away to boarding school for as long as I can remember, but for him, the answer has always been no.

  My feet hit the warm tile floor and I feel my way from my bed to my brother’s. “Get up!” I shout somewhere close to his ear.

  “Stupid!” he says, pushing me backward so hard I fall to the floor, but we’re both laughing. As much of an ass as Varun is, he’s the only one who’s made me feel even halfway normal since the accident. He spent the first few months apologizing daily, crying about how he never should have handed me the firecracker in the first place. I hated it. I’m much happier having my irritating older brother back.

  “I’m not stupid,” I say, launching myself onto his bed. “I’m going to boarding school in England!”

  The three women are almost out of sight now as the world comes back into focus. I shake my head, hoping that it wasn’t obvious. I flash back to the night of the fireworks and the chaos after the firecracker blew up in my face. I’d spent the rest of that lifetime blind. Did I go to England? Did I learn braille? I feel the tips of my fingers and wonder if they’d be able to read braille, like I can speak Italian. If I learned in that lifetime, is the sense memory still there?

  “Another memory?” Janine asks.

  I look at the ground, a little embarrassed. “Yes. India this time. I’ve been getting more and more of those.”

  “India. That’s interesting. I’ve never had a lifetime in India.”

  I glance at her. “I was a boy in India, sometime around World War II. I remember I was blinded. By a firecracker.” I think about the memory I just had. “I think that’s where I began to feel things more. My eyes were gone, so my other senses must have taken over. I could hear better and knew what people were feeling by the tone of their voices.”

  “It’s possible,” Janine says, chewing thoughtfully. “Losing your sight would be a traumatic event. If a person can develop musical skills over many lifetimes, I don’t see why you can’t develop empathic skills the same way. True empathic skills are simply supercharged intuition, and once you learn to trust in them completely, there’s no telling where they might take you.”

  “Do you think that was my last lifetime? Before this one, I mean?”

  “You said it was World War II?”

  “Yes. I heard my dad talking about England and Germany.”

  “So that would have made you . . .”

  “Eleven. Right after the war ended.”

  “Could be.” Janine nods. “Depends on how old you were when that lifetime finished, but sure, that might have been the one before now.”

  “Freaky,” I say, amazed.

  “Definitely,” Janine agrees. “But that’s enough chitchat.” She rubs her hands on her pants and holds them out to me. “Now, let’s see if we can hone those skills into something worth using in this lifetime.”

  Fourteen

  The minute Drew’s foot hits the bottom step of our porch, I’m out the door. It’s not that I’m dying to see him again, but I want to get the hell out of here before Mom comes home and I have to explain myself. The vague note I left for her in the kitchen will have to do until later.

  “Hi,” Drew says, pausing on the steps. He’s wearing a black V-neck T-shirt and a dark brown leather jacket that looks like he either kept it from a past lifetime or picked it up at a vintage store. I hate that a little jolt of something runs through me when I see him, but I just pass it off as a leftover from the other lifetime. He flashes me a smile. “You look nice.”

  I glance down at my jeans and black corduroy jacket. I’ll never admit that it took me a couple of hours to figure out what to wear; I was going for a cross between looking good and looking like I don’t care. Apparently, “don’t care” won out. I’m about to say something about him lying, but at the last second decide to let it go. “Thanks. Where are we going?”

  Drew turns and steps onto the sidewalk. “It’s sort of a secret. All I’ll say is that I promise to get you home safely before curfew.”

  I instinctively feel for my phone in the pocket of my jeans. I can always call a cab if I need to go home. If doing what he wants for one night is going to make him go away forever, it seems like a bargain. “Okay.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Really? Great. Don’t comment, just keep your mind open and your opinions to yourself for now. My car’s over here.” Drew leads me down the block to a low-slung black car with a red stripe down the hood. It looks like it would be at home in a superhero movie or on a racetrack. He walks around and opens the passenger door for me, and I slide into a seat that feels like it instantly surrounds me, adjusting to my every move. The interior is all pale gray leather and totally spotless. I look from the chrome dashboard to the steering wheel with the logo I don’t recognize.

  “This is your car?” I ask as he eases into the driver’s seat. “What is it, a Ferrari?”

  “Bugatti,” he says, patting the dashboard. “It’s a great car for driving around town. Or to Vegas.”

  “We’re driving to Vegas?”

  He glances at me as the engine roars to life. “I thought about it, but I figured you didn’t have that kind of time.”

  I look around the obviously expensive car, really more cockpit than interior
, and try to decide whether he’s kidding or not. “So if we’re not going to Vegas, where are we going?”

  “You agreed not to comment.”

  “Fine. I’ll just sit here and shut up.”

  “That’ll work,” he says. We turn toward downtown, but as much as I want to ask more questions, I sit back and look out the window. The driver of every car we pass turns and does a double take at the Bugatti, but Drew doesn’t seem to notice.

  I feel the leather seat under my hand. “So your parents are insanely rich?”

  Drew settles back in his seat as the car shoots forward. “They are now. I help them out. When I was a kid they were just your average, middle-class couple living in Sydney. Dad’s an engineer and Mum stayed home with us.”

  “Now I totally don’t get it. What was all that talk about arriving in San Francisco with just a duffel bag? Kat said that you’re a jewelry designer. She didn’t say anything about race cars.”

  “I only design jewelry for fun. As far as most people are concerned, I’m a jewelry designer with an unknown source of family money, and that’s fine,” he says, almost apologetically. “Even Francesca doesn’t know anything close to the truth.”

  A shadow passes across his face as he says her name that makes me think something’s going on there. “So what is the truth?”

  “Have you been told anything about the Iawi? About Alexandria and the catacombs?”

  “I know that the Iawi are really old Akhet. That’s about it.”

  Drew nods slowly, and I can tell he’s measuring out the information he’s going to give me. “The first formal organization of Akhet took place in Rhakotis. It’s now called Alexandria.”

  “In Egypt,” I say, connecting some of the dots. “Which is why everything has an Egyptian name.”

  “Right. When people first began to realize that they were remembering their past lives, they wanted a safe place to store valuables to make their next lives easier. We found that in Rhakotis. Some Iawi keep things in other places too, but Rhakotis is the only sanctioned place for safekeeping.”