“Do you think he’s in danger?” I asked.
“The Office of the Future is mired in bureaucracy and inherently resistant to progress, but no, I wouldn’t say anything malicious is at play.”
Her words didn’t ease my worry. I could only think of my brother’s future, or lack thereof, and how surely his unsanctioned work was mixed up in it.
“What your brother has discovered is unprecedented,” Professor Reed went on. “The ability to predict abductions has the potential to change everything over time. If an abduction was viewed as another marker of fate, something no one could avoid, that would shift the blame away from girls. Perhaps the stigma would begin to dissolve.”
“In that case, men could use the same argument to say they were fated to take a girl,” I said. “They’d never be held accountable.”
“That’s true, but they’re not held accountable now. They never have been. Let me show you something.” She pushed back from her desk and went to the mahogany bookcase in the corner. From the bottom shelf, she selected a heavy photo album. Its faded cover bore the school seal embossed in gold. When she opened the album, its spine made a cracking sound.
“This is our history.” She pointed to the first photograph. It was black and white, its edges yellowed. A dozen solemn-looking teenage girls, flanked by a few women, stood before a cluster of pines.
“These were the first girls to come to the mountain.” Professor Reed flipped the page to another old photo, then another. “We have a class picture from every year. Go ahead. Look.”
I turned the page. Girls back then wore long dresses, their hair pulled back in simple buns or braids. No one smiled. I started flipping faster. With each passing year, the number of girls increased while their dresses and hair grew incrementally shorter. Every picture was different, and yet every picture was the same: a group of somber girls, and a set of women guarding them.
“There are so many,” I said quietly. And each girl was taken by a man who faced few to no consequences.
Professor Reed nodded. “It’s overwhelming, to think of how many girls have come to this place, and how many others needed us who couldn’t afford it. That is my biggest regret, that we haven’t yet found a more equitable way to operate. But everything we do here is so precarious, so close to being found out and shut down.” I breezed past more photographs while thinking of Deirdre, who could have had a different life had she been able to afford tuition on the mountain. Instead, the last I’d heard from Miles was that Deirdre had moved again, this time to another city farther away, where she worked as a seamstress in a factory.
“In the end,” Professor Reed continued, “our legacy is that of women helping girls. But this isn’t isolated to the mountain. This is a tradition one can find anywhere—across the country, and across the world, too. You’re part of it now.”
I kept my eyes trained on the album. The girls and women in the photos stared up at me, serious as ghosts. “You’re saying I need to leave.”
Professor Reed took hold of my hands. “I didn’t say that, Celeste.”
“You didn’t have to. I know it’s right—not just because Miles has so little time left, but because I need to help him and Julia.”
Professor Reed squeezed my hands and I turned my head away, blinking back tears. Out the window, I caught sight of a hummingbird approaching the feeder, its wings beating into a blur. Any other day I would have watched it feed, delighting in its luminescent throat and needled beak. But I no longer saw any point in lingering in the presence of such beauty.
“I never planned on this,” I went on. “I thought I’d become a psychologist. I thought I had no talent when it came to interpretation. But being here on the mountain has shown me otherwise. Miles has a gift, but so do I.” I gently pulled my hands away so I could wipe my eyes. “I’m scared, but I need to leave.”
“You can do this, Celeste,” my professor said. “You can. And don’t worry about graduation. You’ve proven yourself here. I’ll grant you an early graduation to ensure you leave with a diploma.”
I looked at Professor Reed. She’d taught me so much on the mountain, had shown me a world of the mind and the spirit and the heart. I’d always suspected she was too good to last, had always known that I’d have to leave her one day.
I just didn’t expect it would be so soon.
* * *
* * *
Later that night, once the news of my early graduation was out, my friends knocked on my door. They ushered me from our dormitory and into the night air, where more friends surrounded me. Each carried a wildflower garland to drape over my neck.
“You’re graduating,” someone kept saying, like this was a magical thing. The scent of flowers surrounded me. Above us, the moon was so bright it obscured the surrounding stars.
When I first came to the mountain, I felt detached from the others. While there were a few like me—girls whose mothers, aunts, or older sisters became humanitarians to raise the funds for tuition—most of my classmates on the mountain didn’t come from the same universe as I did. They had grown up with nannies, housekeepers, and tutors. They played piano and violin, and they competed in horse shows and tennis matches. I had nothing in common with them—until I was taken, just the same as they were.
I’d once believed it was mostly disadvantaged girls who were abducted, but the shine of money and privilege on the mountain told me otherwise. Our ruin was our equalizer, at least for these few years. After graduating, we could return to work on the mountain as teachers one day if we wished, but the majority of girls scattered out into the world, buoyed by family money. The mountain experience was a singular moment in time, a period of wonder to remember fondly but never repeat.
My friends led me to the large rock that hulked in the shadows behind the dormitory. We called it our lodestar. Bettina and Alicia pushed me to sit on it while everyone circled me. They clutched snarled handfuls of twigs and grass and leaves that they raised high above their heads. When they opened their hands, everything rained down like confetti.
“On this day, on this rock and in this forest, it happened,” Alicia said. She brushed her palms together, releasing the last bits of grass and dust. “You were born.”
I turned my face to the sky. I thought of those who really were born on the mountain, the daughters in the nursery. They would grow up with this place inside of them. I thought, too, of the other girls out there who were marked to be taken, and how they didn’t know. How I could use what I’d learned to find a way to help them.
“I miss it here already,” I said, but the other girls weren’t listening. Instead they flowed around me, circling, whispering, laughing. As free and whole as they’d ever be.
Humanitarian Global Alliance for Women
DEPARTMENT OF AMBASSADOR MANAGEMENT
MEMORANDUM
TO: Paulette Morton, Ambassador 186C
FROM: Officer Young
PRIORITY: Urgent
STATUS: Confidential
SUBJECT: New Assignment
ABSTRACT: Assistance needed in nation where local law requires detainment and quarantine of juvenile girls predicted to contract communicable disease.
DUTIES:
Conduct outreach and therapy services for affected girls.
Arrange goodwill meetings with local officials.
Attempt educational intervention with authorities, if receptive.
Foster and maintain diplomatic relations with government representatives.
Complete fact-finding to determine local policy for adult women marked with comparable communicable disease predictions.
Contact your commanding officer directly via secure line for travel details and in-depth assignment narrative.
24
The journey home lasted four days and three nights on a train that coiled through the
highlands. We clung to the sides of mountains, took dizzying sidewinder turns, and crossed bridges that soared above crystalline water. We went through tunnels, six of them—pitch-black shoots of space that stole time. I spent those days on the train half remembering, half dreaming. Expecting, at the train’s every jostle and heave, a spectacular crash.
When we at last pulled into the station in my hometown, my father was waiting for me on the platform. He was alone.
“Where’s Miles?” I asked as we performed a stiff hug.
“At Julia’s. He wants you to meet him there.” My father swung my suitcase into the car. “Come on home and get settled first. I’ll make you lunch.”
At home, our front lawn was transformed into a vegetable garden. Kale and lettuce, plus a jumble of what I’d later learn were onions, garlic, beans, and squash, grew in raised beds. Tomato cages filled the northwest corner. I clutched my backpack to my chest and studied the garden in silence.
“You did all this?” I asked.
“Who else?” he said, and heaved my suitcase out of the car. “Not your brother. He’s barely home, and when he is, he doesn’t eat. I don’t know what he lives on.”
My father headed inside, and I followed. During the drive home, I’d been uneasy over how we’d spend our time together. I imagined him pouring a beer and sitting silently in the living room. Instead, he headed straight to the kitchen, where he sliced an acorn squash down the middle and rubbed a baking sheet with oil. I went upstairs to my old room to unpack, but within moments I lay down and closed my eyes. It should have been a comfort, to return to my childhood bed, but all I could think of was my dormitory back at the school.
After a while, I gave up trying to nap and went downstairs. The kitchen smelled like garlic and butter. The table was set for two. I eased into a chair and let my father serve me: salad, acorn squash, garlic bread, plus sparkling water poured into a wineglass.
“This is delicious.” I took another bite of squash, which was stuffed with wild rice, mushrooms, and spices. “I remember when you used to say you were fated to be a bad cook. Guess you were wrong.”
He laughed a little. “I suppose so.”
Our conversation drifted into silence. I observed my father as he ate. He looked thinner, and younger, somehow, even though nearly two years had passed since I’d seen him. We couldn’t afford train tickets for visits after my tuition.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat. “Your letters made it sound like you loved school.”
“I did.”
“An early graduation is unusual,” he said. “I thought maybe something happened.”
I avoided his gaze. “Professor Reed thought I was ready.”
My father put down his fork and stared down at the table, as if steeling himself. Then he pushed back his chair and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with the phone in hand, the cord uncoiling behind him.
“Here,” he said. “It’s your mother.”
I was holding my fork so tightly it hurt. “Please, Dad.”
He thrust the phone in front of me. “Talk.”
I took the phone and pressed it to my ear. The cord had to stretch so far from the kitchen that it pulled taut; I could feel the tension in it.
“Celeste.” My mother’s voice sounded far away. “I’m so glad you’re home safely. But your father is worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
The connection sizzled like a firework. “I couldn’t be prouder of you for graduating so quickly. You always were a star student.” A sound like rustling papers drifting through the line. “I miss you terribly, but they need me here. If it’s all the same, I think I’ll carry out this assignment before coming home.”
“How long will that take?”
“No more than a month or two.”
Professor Reed had been right that time was too short. The tarot could reach either my mother or my father in mere weeks. And Miles—my parents deserved to have time with Miles before it was too late.
I took a breath. “I’m sorry to do this, but I need you to come home. Right away.”
My mother paused. “Something’s wrong,” she said finally. “I knew it.”
“I’ll explain when I see you. Just come home.” I was about to cry, and it came through in my voice. My father sat across from me, watching without a word.
“I’ll have to request emergency leave to exit this assignment.”
“Then do it.” I blinked to hold in tears.
“All right, Celeste.” Her voice was resolved. “I’ll file my request today.”
If my mother was grieving the loss of her career, she hadn’t let her voice betray it. Maybe she believed she’d be able to return to her post. Surely no part of her saw it coming, how the time we had left with Miles was diminishing day by day. In a few months he’d turn twenty, and sometime within that coming year, he would be gone. To not know any more than that was agony. It was unfair. It was the way of fate.
* * *
* * *
Later, I wedged the tarot deck the best I could into the back pocket of my pants and headed for Julia’s. Everything along the way looked the same and yet smaller, less significant. Living at the Mountain School had skewed my perception.
Once in the interpretation district, I drew to a stop near Julia’s townhouse. Chloe’s storefront across the street was boarded up, the sign ripped clean off. I stared at it until a familiar voice called out behind me. I turned and there she was: Julia with her flyaway hair, her uniform of jeans and a fitted dress shirt. The sight of her made me long for my mother. I was so surprised by this desire that I started to cry, right there in the street.
“Oh, Celeste.” Julia hurried down her front steps and embraced me.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. I wasn’t even sure what I was apologizing for—for keeping secrets, for leaving, for not coming back sooner.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She smoothed my hair. “You’re home now. Come inside.”
She guided me toward her townhouse. Inside, everything looked the same as I remembered, save for the cluster of girls and a few of their mothers waiting in the parlor. I turned my face from them. I could feel the tarot deck crammed too tightly in my back pocket.
“Our client list is growing. Girls from farther away are hearing what your brother can do, and they find their way here, whether on their own or with the support of a parent,” Julia said. “But as long as the prediction isn’t in Mapping the Future, it’s unofficial, underground. I think for some of them, coming here for a reading is like a game. That’s one of our challenges—convincing them it’s real.”
I understood, without Julia saying so, that my presence could help. I was living proof that juvenile markings had predicted my abduction.
“The three of us have a lot of work to do,” I said.
“Four.” Julia gave me a tense smile. “We have help from someone else, too.”
She pressed the intercom button near the entryway and spoke into it. A moment later, a girl of about fifteen entered the room from the back hallway. At first, I could only register that she was a changeling. I hadn’t seen a changeling girl in a long time, not since before leaving for the mountain, and her presence was like a cold splash of water in my face. But she was not just any girl.
She was Angel, Chloe’s niece.
My mouth felt dry. I couldn’t speak.
“You remember Angel,” Julia said. “Chloe’s in the hospital, so Angel has been staying with me.”
Angel approached, her eyes cutting straight to me. She held out her hand, but I didn’t move. After a long moment, she dropped it.
“Chloe has cirrhosis of the liver,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “She won’t get better, but Julia says I can stay here.”
I could feel Julia watching me.
“That’s te
rrible. I’m sorry, Angel.” My concern felt performative, and I could only think of how Chloe had helped trap girls like me. I had to remind myself that Angel was no longer Chloe’s helper but a changeling—a young woman living through perhaps the most dangerous time of her life.
“Life’s not fair, is it,” Angel said. Her tone was flat. “You should know that more than anyone.”
“Angel’s been enormously helpful,” Julia put in. “She takes reservations and joins Miles during exams to put the clients at ease. She’s become vital to our process.”
I felt an envious twinge, a fleeting belief that it should have been me working with my brother, not Angel. But I’d left without looking back.
“Where’s Miles?” I asked. “I’d expected him to meet me at the train station.”
“He’s had clients all day, but he’ll be done before long. He’s excited to see you.”
“It’s true,” Angel said, a touch of sourness in her voice. “He’s been talking about it for days.”
I looked at Angel, really taking her in this time. As a changeling, she was beautiful, but she was also more than this radiant transformation. She was a teenage girl, clear-eyed and certain. She was not that different from my friends on the mountain. She was not so different from me.
“I have to ask,” I began. “Did Miles check you before you changed?”
“Yes, of course, and I don’t have the abduction marking.” She seemed a bit exasperated. “Most girls don’t, you know. We’re not all as unlucky as you.”
I fell silent. Angel didn’t believe in luck, and neither did I. We believed in fate.
“If you wait here, Miles will be out soon,” Angel added. She moved to the appointment book in the corner and began jotting notes in the margin. I hovered for a moment, then took a seat in the parlor with girls still waiting for a reading. They peered my way curiously, but did not engage.
Body of Stars Page 24