by Tracy Clark
He lifted my hand and kissed the ivy marking on my finger, then turned my hand over and placed his lips on my palm where the moon etched my skin, its spiraled design blending into the life line and heart line and the pulse at my wrist. His lips brushed over each triangle on my forearms. His curls tickled my cheek and neck as he bent his head and kissed my shoulder where the key had marked me.
There was something incredibly intimate about him kissing my scars.
Slowly, he lowered himself over me. Like flint striking on steel, when our skin touched, sparks flew off in every direction. My nerves hummed, my toes tingled, my insides curved like metalwork under fire. The sensations glowed in our auras, wrapping sparks and heat around our tangled arms and legs. Our kisses grew more urgent.
“I—okay—wow,” I whispered. “This—is very—convincing. Anyone would have to believe that we—”
Giovanni stopped and held my face between his hands. The look in his eyes was all seriousness. “It’s not them I’m trying to convince, Cora.”
He pressed against me, showing me in the most primal way that there could be no doubt his want was genuine. Mine was, too. My head swam with thoughts, my body with sensations, my being with new light. It was amazing how much light could sneak in through a tiny crack. Part of me wanted to cry.
It was another good-bye.
His head pulled back, barely, and he spoke in a hush against my lips. “I’m the one person who doesn’t need your energy. I don’t want to take from you. I want to give to you. That’s how I know I love you. I will never hurt you. I—I love you.”
Our enormous lie to fool Dr. M was wrapped in truth as Giovanni stamped his words on my body and my heart with sparks and kisses.
Fifty-Two
Finn
I had vague memories of being collected by my uncle and brought to my bed at home. My skull pounded with a lump the size of an orange, and my stomach was racked with nausea that would come whenever I stood. I’d shut up in my room in a haze of pain and guilt. I wouldn’t talk or shower or eat. Mari’s death played over and over in my mind. I rolled in the mud of it, coating myself with the filth of my evil.
I don’t know what I proved. I only knew that killing Mari was the worst sin I’d ever committed, and that I’d never live a day without pain over what I’d done. I deserved that pain. Pain was my currency, my payment for existing.
Every life has value. But killing someone you know and respect exacts a price that an anonymous life wouldn’t charge. Ugly, but true. Ugly truths are blatant. You can’t turn your head away, can’t dilute them. Ugly truths impose, demand to be seen. Ugly truths eat you from the inside out.
No matter how I replayed the moments over and over in my head, even when some part of me conceded that Mari would have died by Ultana’s hand, and that I’d tried to be mercifully kind compared to how Ultana would have done it, it didn’t take away the scarlet letter I’d branded on my own soul. I’d killed a member of Cora’s family—one of her two best friends.
Worse was to think of things I could have done when it was too late. If Ultana had started to kill Mari, could I have jumped in front of her? Would Ultana have been knocked forcefully backward the way I’d been when I’d tried to take from Clancy’s aura? There were scores of possibilities that were beyond my ability to try. It was forever too late.
I was damned.
I already knew I’d never be worthy of Cora. But now I was unworthy of forgiveness. Not Cora’s, not God’s. If my last act was to attempt to find out if an artificial means of energy for the Arrazi had been discovered, then I’d satisfy myself with that. I’d become one singular need: knowledge.
The first thing I did when I was alert and feeling well was to open the envelope I’d taken along with the pouch from the wooden heart in Ultana’s office. The yellowed parchment fluttered in my hand as I carefully unfolded it. It looked to be a legal document with circular stamps all over it. Everything was written in Italian, but using a translator online I pieced out the most important part: The dust in here was removed from the carpet where laid the box and the bones of Dante Alighieri.
I peered into the pouch again and had to concede it looked like ashes. God in heaven… Could this be? It took no time at all to find the news story. In 1865, someone had scooped up material from Dante’s tomb in Ravenna, Italy, divided it among six pouches, and had the remains authenticated with six certified letters. One was found in the ceiling of the Italian Senate in 1987, and the other in the National Library in Florence in 1999. Four were still missing.
I could now account for two of them.
Why on earth would Ultana Lennon have two sacks of dust from Dante Alighieri’s bones? She obviously collected things, strange things, but this was macabre. Coincidence wasn’t something I believed in, especially when two Arrazi women, Ultana and my mother, had obvious interest in the Italian poet. Was he important to the Arrazi somehow?
I called my mother at the hospital to ask.
She sighed into the phone. “There have been many notable people throughout history who were givers or takers of light,” she told me above the hectic noise in the background. “I don’t know if Dante was Scintilla or Arrazi. I only know some people believe he had discovered why we were created this way and may have known how to stop the cycle we all hate.”
My breath hitched.
“But he was killed before he could divulge anything. Time has windswept the rumors, but the old families haven’t forgotten.”
“Someone didn’t want his knowledge to get out.”
“Son, that has been true throughout our history,” she answered. “We’ve all been complicit in the secret.”
“If Dante knew how to stop this cycle, then whoever silenced him would be an enemy to both the Arrazi and the Scintilla.”
“A common enemy?” my mother said with a note of astonishment. “I’d never quite considered that.”
I had to admit, it was hard to imagine a scenario where the Scintilla would ever see the Arrazi as something other than their worst enemy.
After we hung up, I also explored the meaning of the Two of Cups. That tarot card became a haunt, popping into my mind spontaneously, usually when I longed for sleep. When I typed in “reconciliation of opposites” I saw many posts: some about alchemy, others on enlightenment, and interestingly…the number three, triads, and triangles.
Three was the apparent metaphysical superglue of numbers, joining all things opposite.
Triangles, in particular, interested me. I recalled the rock my father showed me the day I returned home from my boat. Two overlapping triangles represented the heart chakra, the place I should focus my efforts when murdering. Obvious that it should be easier to kill through the heart. Who needed a rock to confirm that? Wasn’t that what poetry confirmed?
Still, it seemed odd that this geometric symbol carried so much meaning throughout time and history—not only to a variety of beliefs throughout the world, but to my kind, the ones who kill more kindly if we kill through the heart.
“Reconciliation of opposites” also produced posts about ancient Egypt and the ankh. The ankh, seen in so many early hieroglyphs, was a symbol meaning “the key of life”—key to the eternal spring, the waters of life, or the elixir of life. The many descriptions of this ancient key braided philosophies of life force, death, and immortality.
Interesting. Pouring from the Two of Cups was the water of life.
Seemed that the history of humanity was full of recycled philosophies.
I riddled over it for hours upon hours until my eyes crossed with fatigue.
Then the call came.
I didn’t think it would. I’d threatened Ultana’s life. I’d figured all hopes of seeing the research facility she’d dangled in front of me were forever lost. Not even Saoirse had called since I’d left their house. I’d become a flea on the black sheep of humanity. Why hadn’t Ultana cut me off?
Lorcan had called me from within ten minutes of my house so I took the fastest shower
I could and ran outside. My feet faltered when I saw that he was picking me up in a nondescript black van.
“Still having trouble walking, Doyle?” he sneered.
“So it was you who clubbed me. Should’a known.”
Lorcan cast a quick quizzical look my way. “I wish I could claim that one,” he said emphatically. “Hey, maybe my wee sister clobbered you,” he said, erupting into a fit of mocking laughter.
As I climbed in the van, a memory hit me of the day I took Cora to see her childhood home and we’d been followed by a black van, very similar. I said nothing, but felt the creep of suspicion on my neck.
Lorcan drove to the address we were given. It was in a dodgy old part of Dublin, known for its Magdalene asylums back in the day. The institutions were supposedly meant to “rehabilitate” women from lives of prostitution and thievery but were run more like prisons, locking women away against their will for enforced labor. There still wasn’t much by way of improvement of the area, but when we rolled up to the research facility, it was obvious that it was well funded and well secured.
The men who came out to greet us were too curt, too quiet. It was my policy never to trust people who said too little, or too much.
This Dr. M, he was the latter. Maybe that was why his lackeys were so quiet—they couldn’t get a damn word in edgewise. Another reason not to trust him: he was too fidgety and nervous and kept looking at Lorcan with pinched eyes. “Have we met somewhere before?” he finally asked Lorcan.
“Not at all.”
Dr. M’s brows bunched in consternation. Clearly, this surprise visit didn’t sit well with him.
Unbeknownst to them, we were armed with a master key to every door and every lock in the building. We were shown into a waiting room with a fish-tank floor, and through a series of offices. “There must be more to this facility than pretty floors and offices, Dr. M?” I said, impatient. “What progress have you made in creating a form of energy that can be used to stop the…senseless killings?”
I had no idea if he knew what we were. I played it cautious, but I wanted answers. Lorcan didn’t seem to know what to ask or why we were there at all. He was Ultana’s eyes, I guessed.
“Please see here,” Dr. M said, ushering us into a lab with walls of machinery, computers, and copper wiring. I half expected Frankenstein’s monster to pop out of a cabinet and block-walk right over us. “The biometrics lab takes specimens and measures their electrical output and—”
“Specimens?” I interrupted.
“Of the three energetic breeds of human,” he answered.
“You’ve run tests on—on all kinds? The givers and the takers?”
“I’ve never met an Arrazi—that I know,” he said. “But we’ve tested a third kind of people who claim to take energy from others.”
“I see. But where do you find the special ones?” I asked, aware that I sounded overexcited, too intense.
Dr. M gave a secretive smile. “We have scouts, so to speak.”
Scouts. I was sure my temperature dropped ten degrees. People who were paid to bring Scintilla in… “Right. I’ve heard about those.”
Dr. M looked at me with curiosity but didn’t press. “Let me show you some of our most exciting innovations.”
We entered a shiny black room with nothing in it but a big rectangular table. It looked like something Hugh Hefner would have in his mansion. In the 1980s. During a very lacquer-rich period. I laughed. “This is what you’re paid for?”
“Bring her in,” Dr. M said to one of the ever-present Japanese aides.
Within minutes, a woman was pressed into the room. She was small and blindfolded, and obviously very scared. It took but a moment to recognize her. Without conscious awareness, I must have stepped forward. I realized I’d reached for her, instinctively. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, protect her. She scuttled backward, away from my Arrazi energy, which surely she identified and felt. Her back hit the slick black wall of the room and she shook her head.
“I—” I switched to Irish, hoping desperately that what I said wouldn’t be understood by Lorcan. Not only did my parents speak it, but I’d been sent to Dingle to refine my Irish. I’d hoped he was one of the many who didn’t speak our native tongue. “Tuigim do eagla. Ní bheidh mé Gortaítear tú. Bhuail mé tú aon uair amháin, nuair a, nuair a bhí tú aontaithe le do fear agus do…do rúnda álainn. An bhfuil sí anseo?”
I understand your fear. I won’t hurt you. I met you once, when, when you were united with your man and your…your lovely secret. Is she here?
Every word was carved from my frozen mouth, afraid to reveal more than they might already know about this poor woman. She’d suffered so much already. But I had to ask.
Already, her hands were outstretched in front of her as if to ward off the energy she couldn’t see but could feel. Only now, she was reaching for me. I stepped forward. Her hand splayed out and stroked the air around me. Like a blind person, knowing a face only by touch, she was molding my aura, feeling my unique blend of energy. Though I couldn’t see her eyes, I could see the moment that recognition dawned on her face. Her fingers clamped down on my wrist.
“Do you mind telling us what the hell you’re doing?” Lorcan said.
A corner of my mind warned that I still had to play the part, but I was beyond answering. Cora’s mother was pouring something of herself into me. Injecting me with visions: of Cora, of all of them, being attacked with some kind of electric shock instrument. Waking in a room, firmly bound to hard tables. Cora and Giovanni being led away by gunpoint. Not seen since.
Her fingers left my skin and the vision stopped. Adrenaline surged through me. They were here! Of course. The Society was funding research to generate Scintilla energy, and the doctor himself had just told me he tested on humans of their kind. How did my eejit arse not make the connection? Did Ultana know there were three in this facility?
My gaze raked over the doctor.
“Excuse me,” Dr. M said, trying to assert authority. “I am fond of saying that we do not keep secrets here. I’m afraid I do not speak your tongue and would like for you to cease from using it with my patients.” I acted apologetic, but my body was a hive of buzzing activity. He cleared his throat.
“I wanted to put her at ease. She is obviously very scared,” I said.
“Yes, yes. Very well. A demonstration of the room.”
When his hand reached for a panel on the wall, my body tensed in preparation to leap for Cora’s mother if needed. But when the doctor pushed the switch the only change was the sudden appearance of the mesmerizing cascade of colors projected onto the walls around us.
Even Lorcan was dumbfounded. His mouth hung open as he peered at the walls, at the auras we could sense like bloodhounds but never see before now.
My own aura was still white but might as well have run bloodred with Mari’s murder. Lorcan had some white in his aura, which wafted out from his body like an exaggerated cloud. He had a lot of orange and some of it not so clear, like it was mixed with other, darker colors. I swear it lightened and changed as he stared at the walls.
The focus of Lorcan’s gaze and of mine was Cora’s mother, the only Scintilla in the room. Silver sparks flew from her like a mosaic of mirrors reflecting luminous light from her core and out through her astral body. If this was what emanated from Cora, no wonder I’d been captivated. It was a lake of such shimmering beauty, I yearned to connect with it, to dive in and be part of it. Sparkling crystals of light, love, and everything beautiful a human could hold.
It was the most astonishing and lovely miracle I’d ever seen.
Lorcan stared, openmouthed. Was he as affected as I was?
Christ, they couldn’t want all of the Scintilla dead!
I had to find Cora.
“You’ll excuse me,” I said, ignoring the doctor’s protestations. “I’ve been told that no one in this facility will hinder my ability to look around freely.” I hoped Lorcan would be too stupid or too unmotivated to foll
ow. I got very up-close in the doctor’s face. “I believe you do keep secrets here,” I said, hitting his heart chakra with a tentacle of energy as a warning. His eyes rounded. “This woman is not to be harmed.”
“My goodness, who would want to harm her?” Dr. M chirped. “I simply covered her eyes to protect your anonymity as I’ve always been instructed. I want nothing but her safety.”
I gave a quick nod. “Indeed,” I said, looking over my shoulder at Lorcan. “Then remove her from this room”—I lowered my voice to a whisper—“and away from him, immediately.”
A small control center.
From the looks of it, that was what I’d entered after wandering through halls that all looked so much alike, I feared I was simply running in circles. I’d used a master key that Lorcan gave to me to bypass the locks on many rooms. This particular room intrigued me because it was right off a larger room with multiple gurneys lined in a row. All of them had white harness straps dangling like spider legs under each table. It was the room in the vision from Cora’s mother.
Panels of computer monitors lined the wall, dark but illuminated with red record/play buttons. A large blackout screen hung above the monitors. Out of curiosity, I pulled the cord and it snapped and recoiled upward, revealing a large glass window much like one in a police interrogation on a TV show. Beyond the glass, I saw bursts of movement. I moved closer to the glass to determine the source. When I did, my head flinched in surprise. Not what I expected at all.
Two people rolled around passionately under the covers in a bed. I flushed. This Dr. M was a raunchy bastard. Did those people know they could be seen? Feeling like an utter perv, I turned my back on the lovers and made to leave, but the door flew open as I reached for it.
“What are you doing in here?” Dr. M asked with barely masked anger, his balding head beaded with sweat.
Lorcan brushed past me and walked toward the window. He let out a lascivious whistle. “Mmm-mmm, Doc. What have we— Hold on… Well, bite me wicked arse and call it candy. That girl?” The howl that came from Lorcan sent cold drips of uneasiness down my spine. “Hot damn! I know how she feels underneath me and her aura is delicious. Bitch has got a bite, though,” he said, his fingers running over his cheek, which had sported a half circle of red since the party. “Who’s the bloke that has her in a compromising position this time?”