The air becomes stale as I climb the stairs. I shrink from the cobwebs hanging overhead and shudder, imagining the feeling of a spider crawling on me.
Sunlight spills in through the windows. It doesn’t light up the whole space—just enough to make the shadows seem darker. More cobwebs fill every nook and crevice. I shiver again as I slowly walk around, searching for anything that could possibly hold Aunt Grace’s secrets. The attic is full of old furniture, trunks, and other odds and ends, all coated with a thick layer of dust.
One of the trunks catches my eye. It doesn’t look ancient like the rest of the stuff up here, and unlike everything else I’ve seen so far, fingerprints mar the surface. A weird, fluttery sensation fills me as I lift the lid. Please let this be it. Please.
The inside looks like a treasure chest for a young boy. On top are a few old baseball gloves, two scuffed-up bats, some torn comic books, and some faded shirts. I pick up a blue and white shirt. It’s an old jersey with the name Eagles written across the front and the number three on the back, below the name Walker. It must have been my dad’s. I hold it close and sniff, hoping for a hint of what he smelled like, what he was like. Disappointment washes over me—it’s musty, like the rest of the attic.
A paper shopping bag is on one side of the pile. The paper crinkles as I open it. I grin when I realize it’s filled with the missing pictures and letters. Nice try, Aunt Grace.
I take the bag out and start to search through it, but then I notice a large leather book in the trunk with Dad’s name, Nathaniel, embossed on the front in gold letters. The spine makes a crackling noise as I open it. The yellowed pages are full of newspaper clippings, pictures, and other mementoes from my dad’s past. I smile when I come across some awards from when he was in high school. He had the highest average in history for several years. I definitely didn’t inherit that from him.
More newspaper clippings are near the back. Dad’s baseball team came in third at the state championship during his junior year of high school, and his cross country team won several awards. The last picture on the page shows him standing next to another guy. They’re both holding trophies. I lean closer to study the other guy’s face and check out his name from the caption: John Miller. He looks familiar. Where have I seen him? Then it hits me—he’s the same guy standing next to Dad in the picture I stole from Aunt Grace’s bedroom.
I nearly drop the scrapbook when the attic door creaks open and footsteps pound up the stairs, followed by Aunt Grace calling, “Alora Walker, you better not be up here.”
No! She can’t be back already. My body goes on autopilot. Pocket the picture of Dad and John Miller. Put everything back in the trunk. Then my head snaps back and forth, searching for someplace to hide. There’s an old chair across the room. I barely squeeze in the narrow space behind the chair before Aunt Grace tops the stairs.
I hold my breath and peer around the side. Aunt Grace stops in front of the trunk. I hope she can’t tell I was snooping through it. She opens it and examines the contents. Seconds stretch to minutes. My chest feels like it’s about to explode. When I think I can’t take much more, she shuts the lid. I stay still until I hear the attic door shutting again. Then I let out a sigh.
That was too close.
I’ll have to come up with a lie about where I’ve been. Aunt Grace will have already checked my bedroom, but I’ll deal with that when I’m out of here. I hurry to the trunk and remove the scrapbook again. I want to keep it in my room.
A faint light slivers through the cracks around the door at the bottom of the stairs. All I want to do is slip out unnoticed, get to my room, and examine the scrapbook some more. Hopefully Aunt Grace will be occupied with Bridger for a while and won’t look for me anymore.
I twist the doorknob, expecting it to turn, but it won’t budge.
“No way,” I mutter as I twist it again.
It still won’t open.
I sink onto the step and rub my hand across my forehead. If I bang on the door and yell, Aunt Grace will know that I was hiding from her and snooping. That’s out of the question if I ever want to search through Dad’s trunk again.
I allow myself a minute of self-pity before I trudge back up the stairs. I’m not getting out of here by sitting on my behind. I head to the nearest window, which overlooks the front of the inn. The long gravel driveway stretches toward the road, and a few trees are spaced out across the wide lawn. I trail my fingers over the glass. As much as I hate it, this is my only way out.
I hurry to the other end of the attic and peer out the window overlooking the right side of the inn. A magnolia is growing maybe twelve feet away. It’s not very old—the top of the tree barely peeks over the roof. But I could jump over to it and climb down.
Just thinking of crossing the roof, my heart slams painfully in my chest. The roof of a three-story building. And actually leaping from said roof to the tree.
I step back and lean against a dusty box, my legs suddenly weak. Maybe I should suck it up and call for help. That would be the smart thing to do. The safe thing to do. But my only chance of finding out the truth will disappear.
I’m on my own.
Before I can change my mind, I set the scrapbook down on the floor and go back to the window. My hands shake as I unlock the latch and push the heavy glass up. For a moment, it refuses to move. I almost give up. Almost. Gritting my teeth, I push harder. The window creeps upward with a groan. I step back as a warm breeze blows against my face. My skin erupts in goose bumps.
I consider leaving the scrapbook behind, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back up here right away. Hopefully dropping it in the shrubs will keep it from being damaged. I just hope I can make it down the tree in one piece.
This window is near the edge of the roof. After propping the scrapbook on the shingles, I crawl out and sit on the ledge, trying to get my nerve up to move. From inside the attic, the view wasn’t too threatening. Now I feel like I’m sitting on the edge of a bottomless chasm, waiting to fall into forever. I can’t make myself move. I can’t catch my breath. Even if I wanted to, I know I couldn’t scream or yell. Inside my head though, that’s another story. As I stare at the ground, wishing I was already down there, I hear myself shouting somebody please help me.
I scoot back against the side of the dormer window and pick up the scrapbook. Since my parents aren’t in my life and I have no idea if they’re still alive, I’ve sometimes imagined how I’d die. And obviously that day has come because I don’t think I’ll ever move from this spot. I’m probably having a heart attack. If I don’t die by heart attack, I’ll probably fall off the roof and break my neck. Or I could stay up here and starve to death.
My breathing becomes more labored, but I hold on to the scrapbook like it could keep me safe. Blackness settles over me. I close my eyes, praying that my death doesn’t hurt too much.
16
BRIDGER
APRIL 10, 2013
“I can’t find Alora,” Grace says as she enters the room. A panicky expression is on her face.
When she returned from her errand earlier, she seemed upset because Alora wasn’t with me. Then she went looking for her. It irritated me because I’d finally connected my DataLink to the antiquated Internet and was searching for more info about Alora. I had to sever the connection.
“Are you sure she said she was going to do her homework?” she asks.
“Yes. And she said she had some other things to do.”
Grace sits across from me and heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I bet she’s got things to do. I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl lately.”
Interesting. So Alora has been doing something out of the ordinary. I wonder if that something will cause her death. I want to ask Grace what she means. Before I can, she launches into a mini-interrogation.
Ten minutes later she finishes. Now Grace thinks I’m a nineteen-year-old newly enlisted navy cadet who won’t have to report until August, but has a thing for wearing the uniform.
&
nbsp; Zed and Elijah would laugh their asses off if they were here.
Grace checks her phone, looking worried. “I texted Alora a little while ago and she still hasn’t answered.”
As long as I’m lying, I might as well give her another. Anything so she’ll leave me alone. “I heard a noise in the back of the house a while ago. It sounded like a door closing.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. Alora likes to run.” Grace’s face lights up in a radiant grin. She stands and takes a few steps toward the doorway. “I’m fixing to start supper now. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“Well, just holler if you need anything.”
After Grace leaves, I activate the DataLink again and wait as it locks on to a wireless signal. I search for any mention of Alora, but like before, I can’t come up with anything. Just like I couldn’t back in my time. That’s beyond odd. Over the years, a lot of info was lost during the conversion of the old Internet to the DataNet, but I still should be able to locate any public data on Alora from this time period. It’s like she doesn’t exist, but that’s crazy. She’s here. I guess she just doesn’t participate in anything.
I deactivate the DataLink and rub my fist in the other hand. How can I find out what’s so special about Alora if I don’t know anything about her? I could always ask but I’m a stranger to her. Somehow, I’ve got to gain her trust. That means interacting with her even more. Which I shouldn’t do.
I slam my fist against the cushion. What was my dad thinking? Why did he want me to save Alora? Something isn’t adding up, but I can’t figure out what it is. A fog clouds my thoughts, keeping me from thinking clearly.
A familiar heavy sensation begins building in me. It starts in my chest and rapidly spreads through my body. Before I go into a full-blown panic attack, I pull a dose of Calmer out of my portacase. As soon as it’s in my system, I lie back against the pillow and blow out a few quick puffs of air.
When the fog lifts, I sit up and swing my legs off the couch. My knee twinges, but the pain isn’t as bad as before. If I keep it elevated longer, I might be able to clear out in another hour with almost no pain. That would be the smart thing to do. But I need to find Alora now. The sooner I can figure out what’s going on with her, the sooner I can figure out why Dad wanted to save her. Then I can go home.
I pick up my portacase and limp out of the room. Grace is humming an off-key tune, then something loud clanks. I jump at the noise and hurry to the front door. I need to get outside so I can use the tracker on my DataLink to see if Alora is nearby. I could use it inside, but the last thing I need is for Grace to pop in while a holographic representation of her house hovers over my arm. I’m sure she’d wild out, and I don’t have a Mind Redeemer, which I could use to erase her memories.
My knee is throbbing again by the time I’m on the front porch. I sink down on the nearest rocking chair and stretch my leg. Things are going from bad to worse. Even if I find Alora on the tracker, how can I get to her with my knee messed up? A pain patch would help, but I didn’t bring one. At least I remembered the Calmer. I can push through pain if necessary. I wouldn’t be able to function without my Calmer.
I activate the DataLink and open the tracker. A holographic globe appears over my arm. I enter my coordinates, and the globe is replaced with a holographic representation of the inn. I extend the search parameters to include up to a half mile around the inn. Then I program it to only display human life signs. Three red blips appear before me. Grace in the house, me on the porch, and another on the roof. I frown. That can’t be right. Damn tracker must have a malfunction. The blip has to be Alora, but what would she be doing on the roof? It’s more likely she’s in the attic. That would explain why Grace couldn’t find her earlier.
I deactivate the tracker. I could head to the attic and try to get Alora to talk to me. But what would I say?
And that’s when I see Alora. One second I’m alone, then the next she’s on the ground under a tree. I blink a few times, thinking I’m hallucinating again. But no, she’s still there.
And she’s not moving.
I ignore the pain pulsing in my knee as I rush to her side. She’s clutching a large book, and she’s so still. Like she’s dead. Bile rises in my throat. It’s like looking back in time, when Vika was the one stretched before me. Unmoving.
But this isn’t Vika.
Alora’s chest rises slowly, as if she’s just taking a nap. I stare at her, then look at the roof. If Alora fell from up there, she wouldn’t be laying here so peaceful. And I know what I saw. Alora didn’t fall. She materialized before me. I shake my head in disbelief.
She’s a Space Bender.
During my first year at the Academy, I learned that natural-born Talents existed throughout our history. But they’re extremely rare. One of the tasks of the DTA is to identify them. Obviously Alora is one, but it still doesn’t explain why my dad wanted to save her life. It doesn’t make sense.
I also wonder if she even knows. She’s passed out, which indicates her abilities are emerging. If she knows what’s happening, that’s fine. If not, I have to pretend I don’t suspect anything. I can’t change what’s already happened.
Alora moans and relaxes her grip on the book. It slides to the ground, and her eyes suddenly fly open. She fixates on me and says, “Oh my God.” Her fingers fly to her face as she sits up, now looking up at the roof. “Oh. My. God.”
Yeah, she definitely doesn’t know she’s a Space Bender.
Alora’s face grows even paler than it already is. She keeps her eyes—eyes that look so much like Vika’s—trained on the roof. “What happened?”
It surprises me how much I want to tell her the truth. Anything to wipe the fear off her face. But I can’t. “I don’t know. I just came outside and I found you.”
“But I . . . I don’t understand.”
She’s in shock. I know that feeling. I had a hard time processing things the first time I shifted, and I knew what was happening to me. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her, realizing something is going on and yet not knowing what it is. She has to be wilding out. No wonder Grace suspects something is going on with her.
But it doesn’t answer my questions. Yeah, she’s a natural-born Space Bender. But I need to figure out what ties her to my dad.
Alora eases herself up and leans back over to pick up her book.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
She strides toward the front porch and answers without looking back. “I . . . I’ve really got to study. I’ll see you at supper.”
I wait for her to enter the house before limping back to the porch. I start to sit again, but I change my mind. I can’t stay here tonight or any night. Accepting Grace’s offer was stupid. What I need to do is try to shift closer to Alora’s death date. Even if I’m a few days, or even a week or two off-target, it’s better than being stuck in April. A part of me doesn’t want to try it—there’s a definite risk of ending up in my time. But I can’t lose three months of my life staying here.
After I grab my portacase, I head for the woods next to the house and stop just inside the tree line. I close my eyes and clear my mind. I will my body to relax and picture July 4, 2013 in my head.
The air rushes away from me as I enter the Void.
I’m alone. I’m Nowhere.
My body grows tense. This has to work. I have to arrive on July fourth.
The sun is low in the sky when I reappear. Whatever the date is, the time is earlier than what I just left. I breathe deeply, savoring the oxygen rushing in my lungs.
The first thing I notice is there are no autos. The second thing I notice is a worried-looking man standing on the front porch of the inn, talking with someone dressed in a navy blue uniform. I stifle a groan. It’s the man who was conducting the tour guide from my own time and a DTA military official.
Then I hear a voice behind me say, “Put your hands in the air.”
17
ALORA
APRIL 11, 2013
The dismissal bell rings, covering a loud roar from my stomach. Thanks to Trevor, I had to skip lunch today and hide out in the library. From the moment I stepped on campus, it seems like he’s been everywhere. And I have no desire to talk to him. Ever. I just wish he’d get the message.
I deposit my books in my locker and hurry outside. All I want to do is get home so I can search for a way to contact John Miller. I couldn’t concentrate on anything last night after blacking out. How could I? I mean, how on earth did I get down from the roof without killing myself?
I thought that guy, Bridger, might have seen how I did it. But when I went downstairs and Aunt Grace realized Bridger had left without even telling us, she freaked out. We spent an hour combing the house to make sure he didn’t steal anything. Which he didn’t.
The tension I’d been feeling evaporates the moment I step outside. Trevor must have finally realized I don’t want to be around him. I’m almost cheerful as I join everyone heading to the parking lot. Sela’s last class is on the other side of campus, so it’ll take her a few more minutes to get to her car.
I round the main building and stop suddenly when I see who’s just in front of me—Trevor and Naomi. And like an idiot, I stand there, frozen.
Naomi’s face is flushed as she talks to him. I can’t understand what she’s saying, but I can just make out the words “followed” and “need you.” She wipes her eyes, not caring that she’s crying in full view of everyone, and says in a louder voice, “Please listen to me.” She then places her hand on Trevor’s chest. He just brushes it off.
I wonder for a moment why she’s acting so desperate and why she feels the need to follow Trevor around. Naomi is gorgeous and could have any guy she wants. But it’s really none of my concern. What I have to do is get out of there before Trevor sees me. The last thing I need is to get involved in whatever drama is going on with them, but suddenly he looks up and locks eyes with me. He says something to Naomi and walks away. In my direction.
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