by K. C. Neal
Mason. . . ? I whispered through our link. I didn’t want to wake him, but I longed for the comfort of his presence. When a minute or two passed and he didn’t respond, I figured he must be asleep.
I thought about entering the hypercosmic realm and losing myself in the sea of glowing filaments—maybe Zane would be there—but more than an escape, I really needed true rest.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for another hour, thinking about what Mr. Sykes had said, about how people who are of weak mind or body are vulnerable. My brother’s body had been weakened by leukemia, and now some unknown evil had taken up residence inside him and brought on the return of his illness.
I really needed to talk to Aunt Dorothy ASAP.
* * *
The next morning, when I got to school, I found Angeline sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of our locker. She held her phone in both hands in front of her and stared at the overly buffed tiles with an expression so forlorn, I just wanted to sit next to her and pet her golden hair.
“Ang, what is it?” I dropped my bag and sat down in front of her.
“Toby,” she said. “He’s in the hospital. I’m sorry; I know Brad’s not doing well, but I’m just really worried about Toby, too.”
“What happened?” I scrunched my eyes, mirroring her worried expression.
“I don’t know. They think it’s some kind of bad virus. He’s running a really high temperature, and he’s got muscle spasms and doesn’t want to eat anything.”
I frowned. “Just out of nowhere?”
“Yeah, I guess. I just found out.” Her voice caught and she paused. “Apparently he woke up in the night and he was delirious from the fever.”
“It’s probably a bad case of the flu,” I said, but my stomach lurched. Was it really just a virus?
“This time of year? It’s not flu season. . . . It’s practically summer.”
“Well, yeah, but you can get the flu any time of year,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll go with you to visit him after school, if you want.”
She gave me a small, grateful smile, a bit of light returning to her eyes. I wanted to return her smile, but she’d see through it. I pretended to search for something in my bag, alarm swirling through my chest. No reason to scare her before I had any proof.
“Okay.” Ang combed her fingers through the ends of her hair. “Maybe he’ll be back home by this afternoon. Anything new about Bradley this morning?”
I shook my head. “Not so far. They’re putting a rush on all of his tests. But I’m going to talk to Aunt Dorothy later. I think I can help him, I just have to figure out how. I don’t want to do anything to make him worse.”
The first bell rang, and we both stood up.
“I want to go with you,” Ang said. “If I can visit Toby, we can go by there first, and then Aunt Dorothy’s.”
“ ‘Kay, I’ll catch up with you at lunch.” I gave her a quick hug, and we took off in opposite directions for first hour.
I worried my way through the rest of the morning, and spent part of lunch talking to Brad’s teachers to make sure they knew he was in the hospital. Not that I really needed to do it. Mom had already talked to one of the vice principals, and the Tapestry gossip mill would have taken care of it for us anyway, but I had this strange fear that people at school would forget about him or something. Kind of ironic, considering how his antics usually embarrassed me.
During fifth hour, the antsy energy buzzing through Tapestry High reached such a pitch even I noticed it when a couple of seniors raced down the main hallway in a stolen shopping cart. Right, we had only two weeks left until summer break. And only a little more than that until the solstice.
After school, Ang informed me we’d have to skip the visit with Toby after school because the doctor at the Tapestry clinic still hadn’t identified the illness, and he didn’t want to risk exposing more people. Ang bent over her phone for several minutes, composing another long text to Toby.
She looked up. “Think we should invite Sophie?”
Oh yeah, Sophie. “You’re right, we should.” I sighed, pulled out my phone, and texted Sophie. I shook my head. It seemed stupid to be texting when either I or Ang could talk to her through our links, but Sophie had been blocking me and unresponsive with Ang. Just like I expected, she wasn’t holding up her end of our deal. “But she can find her own way over.”
We stopped by Mason’s house to pick him up, and then were on our way to Aunt Dorothy’s.
When we arrived, Mr. Sykes was reclining in one of the club chairs in the living room, with his bad leg up on an ottoman and his cane hooked over the arm of the chair. Aunt Dorothy sat on the sofa holding a steaming mug of tea in both hands. Ang and I joined her, and Mason took the other club chair, where he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His “thinking pose,” as I’d come to call it.
“Looks as though we’re a Guardian short,” Mr. Sykes said, and he winked at Angeline.
“She knows we’re here,” I said. “She’s still blocking me, and pretty much ignoring us.”
Aunt Dorothy tsked and pressed her lips together. “Well, perhaps she will show up yet. Have you smoothed things over with her like we discussed, Corinne?”
I wanted to defend myself, to explain how difficult Sophie was. Why give her another chance to shoot me down? I swallowed the plaintive words before they could escape. “No, I haven’t. I will soon.”
Aunt Dorothy seemed satisfied by this, or at least she didn’t want to pursue it now. “I spoke to your father about Bradley a few moments ago,” she said. “I understand you saw him last night?”
I nodded, and then I recounted how I’d searched for the source of his illness.
“I had to stop,” I said. “It was hurting him, and I was afraid to do any more.”
I reached for the afghan folded over the arm of the sofa and smoothed its soft fringe. Was the dark thing inside Bradley bigger today? Was it causing him more pain? I focused on my great-aunt. I needed some good news. Anything.
“I believe Harriet is behind this.” Aunt Dorothy looked down into her mug, still as a statue for a moment. “To understand why, I must explain a few things.” She set her mug on the oak side table and folded her hands in her lap. I shifted on the sofa so I could watch her face as she spoke.
“You are aware of the possibility of something slipping through the convergence and attacking or poisoning someone,” she continued. “But I think that an unlikely explanation in Bradley’s case. You see, when we are this near the summer solstice, the convergence is at its least permeable. We believe this has something to do with the botanicals that grow near it, and the fact that they are at their most vibrant this time of year. Their vitality, in turn, gives you a surge of strength.”
She nodded at me, and I raised my eyebrows in question. “But I don’t feel stronger,” I said.
“That’s likely because you have had only a few weeks as Pyxis, and so you have very little basis for comparison.” She gave me a shrewd, narrow-eyed stare. “When the dead of winter arrives, you most definitely will know the difference.”
A chilly shiver raised goose bumps along my arms.
“So you think that whatever is harming Brad came through Harriet Jensen rather than directly through the convergence?” Mason said.
“I believe so,” she said.
“Yes, we have a theory about that, too,” Mr. Sykes spoke up. His bushy eyebrows knit together in concern. “As the false Pyxis, her abilities develop alongside Corinne’s, though always to a lesser extent. We believe that as Corinne becomes stronger the nearer we draw to the summer solstice, it only makes sense that the false Pyxis would become stronger in parallel.”
I started to say something about Zane’s explanation of the false Pyxis, but snapped my mouth shut.
A weight settled in my chest, crowding my lungs. If this theory was correct, Harriet would become more and more troublesome during the next few weeks. I glanced at Ang and Mason. I should h
ave tried harder to get Sophie here. Despite the problems between us, I couldn’t leave her vulnerable to Harriet’s influence.
“What can I do for Bradley?” I asked, pushing away thoughts of the dangers to my union. At this moment, I needed to focus on saving my brother. “Are there any plants in the meadow that could help him?”
“Yes, I would like you to try a combination of botanicals and influences,” Aunt Dorothy said.
“You’ll help me, right?” I asked. “I don’t want to do something wrong.”
“Absolutely. I have been meaning to teach you about the plants so you will understand their actions and be able to use them on your own.”
“That would be great.” I let out a half breath I didn’t realize I’d held.
“And I will coach you on how best to approach healing him.”
“What do you think the chances are, that . . . ” I swallowed hard. “That it will . . . work?”
“I wish I knew, my dear,” Aunt Dorothy said. She patted my hand in a brusque gesture. “We will do our absolute best.”
We arranged our next drill session, and then Ang, Mason, and I stood to leave. On our way to the door, Aunt Dorothy caught my arm. “You must address this rift with Sophie,” she said. “Do not put it off, Corinne.”
I sighed and nodded. She was right, of course. I couldn’t delay the confrontation any longer. I asked Ang to drop me off at Sophie’s house.
|| 19 ||
SOPHIE LIVED WITH HER AUNT in a tiny house just off the highway. Her red Honda was parked on the curb.
Ang pulled up behind Sophie’s car and squeezed my arm. “Good luck. Call me later and tell me how it goes. I can come and get you if you want.”
“Thanks,” I said, and I opened the car door. My stomach turned somersaults as I trudged up to the ripped screen door. I pressed my finger on the button beneath the porch light, and the doorbell chimed inside. I pulled open the screen door and rested it against my back.
The door creaked open a few inches, and Sophie’s face appeared in the crack. I wedged my foot between the door and the frame so she couldn’t close it on me.
“Oh good, glad I caught you.” I pushed the door against her, forcing her to retreat a step, and slipped into a living room that wasn’t much more than a pass-through from the door to the shotgun kitchen.
I’d expected protests, maybe even an arm shooting up to block my way, but she closed the door and turned to regard me. Unbrushed hair, bloodshot eyes. A tiny alarm pinged in my head. Sophie never looked this unkempt.
“We need to talk, Sophie.” I hoped my voice was a white flag. I pressed my arms against my sides, trying to hide my shaking hands. “We can’t let things go on like they’ve been.”
For a moment she just looked at me, unblinking. I braced myself for a barrage. But to my surprise, she nodded. Her shoulders stooped, she brushed past me, and I followed her. I couldn’t help checking the place out. The first time I’d tried to come here, I hadn’t even made it to the front door. And last time, I’d just stood outside.
She led me to a bedroom at the back of the house that was barely big enough for the queen-sized bed that occupied it. I dropped my bag on the floor next to the dresser. By the time I turned to her, she’d folded herself into a compact little package, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them, at the head of the bed.
“You can sit down,” she said, gesturing with the back of her hand.
I sat cross-legged, facing her, and drew a deep breath.
“We used to be friends,” I began. I swallowed, dreading what I had to ask. “You were one of my best friends, in fact. But I never really understood what happened in fifth grade or why you’ve been so intent on making me miserable for the past five years. Why did things change?”
Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t jump in.
“Sometimes people just grow apart, and I guess Angeline and I started to be friends around then,” I continued. My heart thumped uncomfortably. I felt like I was babbling. “But it’s like you’ve just been mean for no reason at all.”
Her eyes flashed with such anger I inhaled sharply.
“This is all because of you, Corinne.”
I blinked. “What’s because of me? I’m not trying to be dense, but I—”
“Oh, please!” she interrupted. She rolled her eyes. “You probably think you did a good thing because you’re so effing annoying that way. But you ruined my life.” Her words lashed at me.
“I . . . what?” My face scrunched with desperate confusion. The venom in her voice scared me. I was used to Mean Sophie, but this was something deeper.
Pain pulled at her face and crept through our link in uncomfortable pulses. She was on the verge of tears. Or maybe a screaming fit. I wanted to spring from the bed and escape. But if I didn’t push through the barrier now, I probably wouldn’t get another chance.
Don’t shut me out, I pressed. I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Please . . . just start at the beginning.
She clamped her teeth on her lips as a tear trailed down one cheek.
In fifth grade, at the slumber party for my birthday, you saw the . . . the bruises.
I wanted to protest. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about, but I fastened my lips together and waited.
That’s why my parents divorced. That’s why I’m here. You didn’t have to say anything, Corinne. I was just fine. Everything would have been okay!
My lips parted, and I gaped down at my hands as I started to put the pieces together. Shortly after Sophie’s slumber party, she’d moved here with her aunt. A year or so later, her parents divorced, and her dad moved to a different state. The rumor mill whispered that her mom suffered some kind of breakdown during all of this, so what had been a temporary living situation for Sophie became permanent. Her mom moved to Danton, and as far as I knew, she and Sophie never saw each other.
Bruises. . . . I stepped back through the years. . . .
When we were kids, Sophie and I had spent many summer days at the lake with other Tapestry kids. I’d noticed occasional bruises on Sophie’s arms and back, and once on her cheek. But she was a tomboy back then, way more fearless than most of the boys, and I’d always assumed she just hurt herself a lot. But they were. . . . All of those marks on her body over the years flashed through my mind’s eye like a horrible highlights reel.
The ache in the center of my chest expanded as my version of Sophie’s life rewrote itself.
I truly had no idea, I said. All this time, Sophie thought I’d tattled on her? And I was so oblivious, I didn’t even know the bruises weren’t from roughhousing with the boys.
But your mom was the one who started it. She reported it. Sophie’s anger was now mixed with deep sadness. Her voice was barely a whisper through our link.
She did? She must have seen something. It wasn’t because of me. I was just a stupid kid. I had no idea what was going on, didn’t even know that the bruises. . . . She never told me what was going on. I . . . I’m so sorry, Sophie.
Tears spilled down to my jaw and dropped onto my jeans with soft splats. Sophie hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face. Her shoulders shuddered every few seconds. I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, comfort her somehow. But I didn’t think she wanted to be touched.
So instead, I cried with her.
Guilt and sadness circled my heart. How had I missed this vital fact of Sophie’s life? Tapestry was small. Rumors had surely circulated. How might that knowledge have changed things between me and Sophie? If Sophie and I had remained friends, maybe Angeline and I wouldn’t have found each other. Maybe Ang wouldn’t be a Guardian now.
How much of our lives were decided for us before we even understood what the consequences would be? How much of what was happening now could I influence? What if my best efforts simply weren’t enough . . . ?
After several minutes, I crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for my bag. Digging to the bottom, I found a small packet of tissues and pulled out a couple. I
dabbed at my cheeks, trying to clean up smeared mascara.
Sophie raised her head, but kept her eyes downcast. She swiped her fingers across her cheeks and sniffled convulsively a couple of times. I handed her the packet of tissues, and she accepted it without looking up.
I gave her a few minutes to compose herself, and I tried to reconcile the new, rewritten Sophie in my mind with the one who sat before me. I suddenly understood why she and Brad made such a good match. They both had a certain spark. But they also shared something much more profound—they both were survivors.
I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been through, I said. No one should have to endure what you have. You are crazy-strong for surviving all of it, and maybe that’s why you’re a Guardian. And I’m glad you are because we need your strength. I remembered Aunt Dorothy’s warning about summer solstice and urgency pressed down on me like a loaded backpack. But . . . I need to know something. Where were you when we had the last drill at the meadow?
She bit her thumbnail for a second. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise it stays between us. She waited for me to nod. I was selling some things that . . . belonged to my mother. I . . . I wanted to get Brad a stereo for his car. I had to drive to a pawn shop in Danton, and I didn’t think it would take so long.
I wish you’d just said so, instead of letting us think you blew us off. We really need you. We can’t do it without you, Sophie.
She straightened, and for the first time ever, I appreciated and welcomed the fierceness in her eyes.
I know, she said. I’m ready, now.
* * *
I cried again later, when I recounted the conversation for Angeline over the phone.
“Are you going to tell Mason?” Ang asked, her voice teary.
“She said I could. She knows we’ll all keep it to ourselves. I think I probably should tell him, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I feel like we shouldn’t be keeping secrets from each other. We have to be able to trust each other. It’s not even about keeping a secret or not keeping it. It’s really about knowing each other that well, don’t you think?”