When Alex stepped close enough, she heard crying. She ran her finger over their branch, names with identical death dates.
“You three died on the same day?”
Xavier nodded.
“An accident?”
He shook his head. “It isn’t a pretty story.”
“Death usually isn’t,” she said, watching Xavier pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”
Xavier shooed off her apology. “It’s fine. My father, he drank a lot.”
“We have something in common.”
He nodded with his jaw set tight but bowed his head in this moment of camaraderie. “I was the oldest. I should have protected my brother and sister.”
“From what?”
He jutted his angular chin toward the tree. “Him.” He showed her a toothed name over his own. Jesper Darwin, his father. A name that didn’t glow. “I don’t know how, but he knew about the afterworld. On the last night of my life, he staggered around our shoebox of a house, drunk and screaming about how he couldn’t find something. He kept saying we would be better off if we went to a different place, a place he hadn’t screwed up, a place where we would be royalty. I thought he was just drunk as usual, looking for a hidden bottle. He was a screwup, my dad. The rest of our family wasn’t too proud of him. He realized that, though, because he said this was the greatest thing he ever did for us.” Xavier’s voice trembled. “Turns out, he wasn’t looking for another drink, he was looking for his gun.”
Alex raised a hand to cover her mouth.
“It’s fine.”
In that instant, colors rained down from his eyes to his cheekbones. His emotion painted a rainbow of tears over the white canvas of his face.
“The bastard shot himself after he realized what he’d done. He was right about this place. How he knew about it is a mystery, but he knew.”
No wonder the Darwins took this world and this city so seriously. “I’m sorry.”
“No pity for us, please. We all have our sob stories from life.”
True. “You haven’t explained why the Bonds aren’t invited here.”
“Oh.” In a flash, Xavier’s sharp cheekbones held no more stains. He picked up a nearby stick and lifted it to a branch near the middle of the tree. Some names appeared as they would be carved on a normal tree, names like Jesper Darwin. Dull and lightless, these were the ancestors who had lived a normal-bodied life. Some sparkled but with clouded brilliancy—the light behind the diamond had vanished.
“The ones who lost their light were killed before their minds expired here. Those names here …” He tapped a cluster of cloudy Darwins. “Those are my ancestors who died because of the Bonds.”
“What? How?”
“The Witch Wars during the 1800s. The Bond family directed the Interactions Department of the government, and they were openly anti-gifted. When the gifted retaliated and tried to fight back, the Bonds enlisted the help of a certain hunting family I’m sure you could guess.”
“Seyferr?”
He nodded. “Their deal with the hunters made everything worse. Spirits against the gifted. The gifted against the hunters. Battles broke out and spirits tried to put out the flames to keep our secrecy. My family suffered because the Darwins have always worked to maintain Eidolon’s secrecy. And we got stuck in the crossfire between the two worlds. Skye’s family, too.”
“Why isn’t Skye here?”
Xavier’s jagged, black bangs scraped his forehead. “Legacy rules permit absence so long as one member of a family attends.”
Skye mentioned Gossamers in the city but not as young as newburies. Gossamers were difficult to miss, so when Xavier guided them back to the others, Alex searched for someone with a cloud of charm above them.
Pax Simone stood at the head of the conference table and called the meeting to order, beginning with an enthusiastic update on something called a Truce March. A celebration, she claimed, for one hundred years of peace due to the efforts of her family. She grinned. Girls with big noses always seemed to have take-charge personalities.
Xavier spoke over Alex’s shoulder, close to her ear. “Pax’s family took over the Interactions Department once the Bonds were demoted.”
“What’s the deal with this Truce March?” she whispered back to him.
“It’s between the gifted and the spirited.”
Pax demanded updates on the obligations of each Legacy family for the event. The room swelled thick with entitlement.
This is like a high society ass kissing, Alex thought.
She swore she heard laughter back in the trees. Xavier turned to look over his shoulder at the sunlight shoving its way through the branches even though a solid ceiling contained the room.
“Is this all you do?” she asked.
“This is about preservation.”
“What are you preserving? Status?”
“Respect.” When the word escaped from his mouth, it appeared in the form of smoke, curling around them and escaping to the trees to pay homage. “For the names on those trees. For what they did for this world. For those of us that needed second chances.”
Such would explain the personality of the room, but accompanying the entitlement were pleasant winds of esteem and flutters of admiration.
“Without remembrance,” Xavier continued, “consequences have no meaning. Incidents like last year would become more frequent. If we preserve them, instead of preserving those who caused the damage, then we win.”
“And how is the Eskers group different from yours?”
He snickered loudly. “You don’t see us trying to hurt others.”
“Didn’t you torment those kids?”
“We knocked a few books from their hands. We didn’t try to kill them. We knew they were up to no good and tried to keep them in line. There’s a difference.”
Looking around, Alex couldn’t help but think that those misfit Eskers kids longed for something like this, somewhere to belong. She didn’t condone what they’d done, but a part of her understood their desperation. She stuck out like a sore thumb when she was alive.
“Your compassion will get you killed,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
Xavier faced her, attempting to read her unwritten expression. “You shouldn’t feel sorry for them. No matter the amount of influence, no one can make someone do something against their will. Some part of each of those kids wanted to harm you for their own personal gain. I hope you realize that.”
She should agree. His words made sense. She didn’t understand her mind’s adamancy to swim against the current of this truth, and it confused her. She turned to meet his gaze, but her words got lost somewhere in her confusion.
The agenda of the meeting took a turn in their immediate direction.
“ … with the return of the Eskers kids,” Pax said. “I think we should delegate members to keep surveillance on the accused.”
“Is that our responsibility?” someone argued. Alex followed the trajectory of the voice to the girl Kaleb was avoiding in the vestibule.
Linton appeared on the other side of Xavier. “Little Gossamer. She’s bold for a young one. I dig it.”
Gossamer? That was her? Kaleb’s admirer. Alex wondered if Skye knew about this.
“Yes,” Pax replied. “If we value our campus and our city. We need to set a good example. We need to promote peaceful living this year especially.”
“She’s right,” Tess piped up. “The Eskers kids need to know that their actions last year aren’t acceptable, and if—”
Pax held up a hand, and Tess stopped so abruptly that the sharp edges of her chin length hair flew forward. Tess never had a hair out of place. Her mind was a well-oiled machine. But for the first time, her hair began to frizz.
“No, Tess. I mean we need to show the Eskers kids some support.”
“Wh—”
“We are the ones who lead.”
Xavier clench
ed his teeth but didn’t come to his sister’s aid. Alex followed his glare to a barren, blackened tree behind Pax. She imagined it might have glimmered once, but its sleekness withered now, devoid of beauty. She didn’t need to look at the name to know to whom it belonged.
She elbowed Xavier. “Why do the Bonds have a tree if they aren’t here?”
“Spirits still think about the Bonds even if they don’t like them. Instead of focusing on what we love, our minds focus on those we hate. It can’t be hidden here.”
When the meeting was adjourned, the members didn’t leave right away. Some resumed their leisure on the ground and others propped open books or remained where the gathering took place to chat. Little Gossamer noticed Alex and beamed so brightly that Alex needed to lift her arms to block the light. Little began heading her way, but Pax cut her off.
“Alex Ash.” She said the name with a tinge of annoyance. “I’m sure you’re dying to know why you’re here.”
Alex really wanted to ask Pax about the abandonment of the Bond family tree after her mighty speech about leadership and support.
“Would you like to see your family?”
Alex’s mouth fell open. In all the talk of families and legacies, she’d forgotten that there was a reason she’d been summoned here.
“Family.” The word melted on her tongue like candy.
The sugary sweetness intensified when Pax stopped in front of the source. From several feet back, Alex could feel its power, even more so than the monstrosity of the Ondine family. She was afraid to step nearer, like traveling too close to the sun. She didn’t need to be any closer to see the name, Havilah. It was carved in brilliantly artistic cursive on the gleaming trunk of the tree.
The Havilahs were spirits? She didn’t need the flipbook of images in her mind to know that name.
“Congratulations,” Pax said, patting her shoulder. “You’re a descendant of a founding family.”
Chapter Eight
A dozen years back …
Parrish, Maryland
The girl beside Alex hummed a familiar nursery rhyme. The eerie tune always gave Alex the chills, but this time distraction overpowered her fear. She was busy watching large, tear-shaped globs of paint splotch her white art paper. Deep blue raindrops of imperfection fell one by one.
The camp counselor hovered over her, holding the lid that dripped like a melting ice cube. She didn’t notice Alex’s exasperation because she was reprimanding Jonas for using craft time to garnish himself in war paint. Alex could feel the heat of anxiety pressing against her throat. The paint tarnished her clean slate before she began, a metaphor for her very existence.
Her frustration followed the course of the counselor who hurried across the room, but when Alex went to glare down at her already ruined art project, she noticed that the paper was magically white once again. Chase sat opposite her, his arms folded over a blue speckled paper.
“Okay!” The disheveled counselor attempted to add pep to her directions. She lifted a dirty hand and used her wrist to sweep back her damp bangs. “Who knows what today is?”
“Blue Day!” The younger children answered in robotic unison. The older campers scoffed, knowing this day was much more significant.
“Yes, but does anyone know why we celebrate blue today?”
“Because it’s Parrish Day,” Kaleb grumbled, sulking in his seat. Flopping forward onto the table, he lifted his head to look at the counselor. “Which presents the question of why we’re here if no one is working today?”
Their parents were working all right … working on killing brain cells. On July eleventh, the adults in town would begin at the top of Main Street and stop in every bar on the way down like visiting relatives on Christmas. As the only adults in Parrish who were not already three sheets to the wind, the camp counselors grew antsier by the minute. Their work ethic perspired from them, dripping down their foreheads. By five o’clock, the legal drinkers in town would join the illegal drinkers at the beach. Parrish Day presented a yearly opportunity for the entire town to lose itself. Parents turned a blind eye toward their children just as the children turned a blind eye in return.
Alex’s father was especially drunk on Parrish Day. He hated to be social, but on July eleventh his doomed marriage to Erin Ash, formerly Erin Havilah, forced him to be a public figure.
“That’s right. It’s Parrish Day, but you didn’t answer my question. Why do we celebrate the color blue?”
The only response was another roar from the air-conditioning unit.
The counselor raised her voice. “Colonial Parrish kept its head above water with its abundant crop of indigo.”
Kaleb shot up in his seat. “Indigo? What is that?”
“It’s blue, dummy.” Jonas scoffed.
“No kidding, moron, but the color blue doesn’t exactly grow on trees, does it?”
The camp counselor seemed pleased that she managed to capture Kaleb’s attention, so much that she ignored his disrespect toward his brother. She perched on a nearby table.
“No, it doesn’t grow on trees; it grows from the ground. Indigo is found in plants. Parrish Day commemorates the founding of our little town, but we wear blue in honor of the crop.”
The girl next to Alex began to sing the nursery rhyme again. Mackenzie. She shared a class with Kaleb.
“Please don’t sing that,” the counselor begged. The older campers began to chant in unison while the younger campers quivered in their seats:
On the nights when the breeze stinks of indigo
Shut your window tight on the sill.
The Havilahs dance in the shadows
Leaving fingerprints shaped like Anil.
You’ll hear them calling for you.
They’ll knock thrice at the door.
And you’ll wake in the morning to find the adorning
Of blue footprints streaked ’cross the floor.
They come for you in silence
And whisper in voices so hushed
And on their breath is the scent of death
With traces of ashes and dust.
Jonas stood on the table, using his paintbrush to lead the group like an orchestra conductor, but it was hard to tell whether he orchestrated the singing or the crying. Gabe ignored it, dipping his fingertips into the paint and dabbing blue prints on his paper. Kaleb tapped his fingers on his chin like a piano, composing a song of mischief.
“You gave me an idea,” he said to Gabe.
“Oh, joy.”
Chase touched Alex’s hand. He didn’t need to speak. His expression told her that she needn’t worry. This would be harmless fun.
Kaleb had already snatched the sidewalk chalk from a nearby bucket, and he hunched over, sketching out a schematic of Parrish. The town was shaped like two giant backward C’s, one spooning the next. The outermost part of the circle represented the modern town, built as a fortress to protect the past. He shaded this larger C with peach chalk. The older, smaller C encircled the Esker woods that gave way to the Parrish Cove. At the highest part of the woods sat the old Frank house. Kaleb grabbed the blue chalk and drew this first. Their friend, Liv Frank, had a grandmother who lived in the cottage that had withstood its ground for centuries. Upon seeing the building, one might believe they’d entered a time warp if it weren’t for the neon glow of an electric sign in the shape of an open hand that read: Palm Readings.
At the southernmost tip of the woods was the Havilah church. It had no modern purpose in the town besides being a historical landmark. At the curve of the C, Kaleb wrote one word, Jester. He shaded this in red. The Esker woods, inside of the C, nestled comfortably against the cove, shielded unless you entered through one of these means: the cove, the Jester’s territory, the Frank house, or the Havilah church.
Kaleb’s arm covered his map as he scanned the area, checking for spies. His voice became low and serious.
“We take this path.” He tapped his paintbrush at the pe
ach shaded area. He traced a square marked Parrish Park, their community. He traced the paintbrush along a road which snaked its way south. “Until we reach the church.”
“That’s dumb,” Jonas hissed. “It will take us twice as long. Why don’t we cut through the woods?”
Kaleb punched Jonas’s arm. “Okay, fearless leader. Are you going to lead us through the Esker woods on foot? No one has done that since cars were invented. Judging by the look on your face, the answer is no.”
Jonas scowled which only accentuated his trembling lower lip.
“Anyway, as I was saying, we get out of here at five, put in an appearance at the beach so Mom and Dad know Chase and Alex are accounted for. I’m guessing you two will want to come with us?”
Their little heads nodded in unison.
“We take the road around the woods past the school and to the old church. I’ve heard there are still Anil plants growing there.”
“And what, oh what, are we going to do with Anil plants?” Gabe asked.
Kaleb clapped his hands. “We are going to scare the pants off this town! We are going to honor the spirit of ‘ole Esker Havilah.”
“Indigo,” Gabe said flatly. “We’re going to steal indigo from the Esker woods?”
“It isn’t stealing if it doesn’t belong to anyone. The Havilahs are dead. Well, with the exception of one person …” Kaleb glanced at Alex, “…and she doesn’t seem to mind.”
Alex’s mother and father once embraced their role in the small town. They rode in the parade, and they brought family heirlooms to be put on display at the museum on Main Street. When her mother died, Alex became the last of the Havilahs, the founders of Parrish. Alex’s father hated the fame because he hated living outside his whiskey bottle. The elders in town always “tut-tutted” him because he didn’t let Erin and Alex keep the Havilah name, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
“Exactly my point,” Gabe warned. “The Havilahs are dead, so who’s to say they aren’t still lingering around their property? And I’m guessing your plan is to print the windowsills?”
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