by Кристи Кук
It took me a minute to catch on, to realize that they weren’t suggesting that Cece actually visit her; they were suggesting that her astral self do it.
“I think you should,” Marissa said, putting on her own shoes. “Why not?”
“Yeah, I guess I could. I’d feel better knowing exactly what happened to her. I just always feel so bad, like I’m invading someone’s privacy or something.”
Sophie shrugged. “Well, her parents are jerks. I wouldn’t worry about them. Why don’t you go tonight?”
“Nah, it’s easier in the morning. I can’t do it when I’m tired. At least, not on purpose.”
Summoning the courage, I finally asked, “How exactly do you do it?”
She sat down on the bed beside me. “Well, it sometimes happens spontaneously, when I’m not even trying. But. it’s kind of hard to explain. I have to really relax, get my body to sleep even though my mind stays awake. Sometimes I just focus on a sound — like a humming in my head. Next thing I know, there are these awful vibrations. Scared me to death the first couple of times. And then I just pop out. Usually my hands and feet first.
Sometimes my head sticks, and that’s kind of weird. And then I have to get away from my body, or the cord will just jerk me back in.”
“The cord?” I was still a little fuzzy on the details.
“Yeah, that’s kind of hard to explain too. The astral cord— it keeps me tethered to my physical body. But it’s really disorienting when you’re too close to your body, so I get away as fast as I can.”
I had to ask, even though I felt stupid doing so. “Where exactly do you go?”
“Anywhere I want,” she answered with a shrug.
“But. but what if someone sees you?”
“No one can see me. They might hear me, if I wanted them to, but they probably wouldn’t remember it. Hey, Kate, throw me my bag, will you?”
Kate was standing by the door, nowhere near Cece’s bag. I didn’t even flinch when the bag lifted itself off the desk and flew right into Cece’s lap.
“Show-off,” Marissa called out.
“So what’s everyone else doing tonight?” I asked.
“Something with Jack,” Kate said, smiling coyly. “Clothing is optional.”
Marissa made a face. “Gag. What about you, Sophie?”
“Studying,” she answered with a sigh. “I’m getting a little behind in trig.”
“Don’t be such a square, Soph.” Marissa rolled her eyes. “It’s Saturday night. C’mon, live a little. Go to the movie with me and Cece.”
“Hey, some of us want to go Ivy,” she answered with a scowl.
Marissa’s eyes narrowed. “That excuse is starting to get real old, real fast.”
“Why do you care?” Sophie shot back. “I think you and Cece can survive a Saturday night without me.”
Suddenly the air felt thick, heavy with Marissa’s disapproval. It was like a living, breathing thing, “C’mon, Marissa,” Cece scolded. “Seriously.
You’re sucking all the fun right out of the room.”
“Sorry,” Marissa muttered. “Didn’t mean to harsh your squee. I can’t help it, you know.”
I felt it lift then, like a breath of fresh air had swept across us all. I shook my head, amazed.
“That’s better.” Sophie favored Marissa with a smile. “Anyway, I’m sorry I snapped like that. It’s just. well, I really want to do well this semester.”
“S’okay,” Marissa said with a shrug.
Kate swallowed noisily, one hand rising to her throat. “Hey, Soph, tell me if I’m coming down with something, will you? My throat’s a little sore, and I don’t want to swap spit with Jack if I’m getting strep.”
Sophie hurried to her side and reached for both her hands, clasping them in her own. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, while the rest of us waited expectantly.
After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and dropped Kate’s hands. “Nah, you’re fine. It’s not strep, tonsils are healthy and your lymph nodes are good. C’mon, are we going to go eat, or what?”
8
A Room with a View
I tried my best to look nonchalant as I sat on one of the brown leather couches in the lounge, staring at the TV on the wall, waiting for Aidan. I had no idea what show was on — it was just a blur to me. I suddenly wished I’d thought to bring a book. Not that I would have read it, but I could have at least pretended to. I think by now everyone in the East Hall dorm had heard about my date, because the lounge was surprisingly full, and everyone turned toward the door with a hush every time someone came in.
The suspense was killing me. Why had he asked me out? I mean, okay, apparently the fact that he even noticed my existence seemed to prove interest on his part, according to Cece and her friends. My friends too, I realized with a smile.
Anyway, there had definitely been a. a moment of some sort between us that first night, when he’d helped me find my way back to the dorm.
And he had studied me pretty closely the first couple of days, but it had seemed more like curiosity than actual interest. Besides, he’d kept a polite distance during our tutoring sessions, and I had assumed that my infatuation was entirely one-sided. But, I don’t know, the way he’d held me earlier, comforting me, was pretty promising, and then there was that thing he said about my eyes.
I’d only known him for five days, so why did it feel like ten times that? Like I’d known him forever? Like we were. meant to be together.
Probably just wishful thinking, I decided.
I’d never had a boyfriend before. Sure, I’d dated a few guys, gone with them to homecoming dances and the movies or the mall to hang out. But nothing serious had ever come of it— couldn’t, really, because I knew that if I started to care, I’d start seeing all kinds of bad things happening to them in my visions. I didn’t want to go there.
Anyway, the guys I knew best were my fencing teammates, and how could they possibly think of me romantically when they faced me, day after day, across the piste — and usually found themselves on the losing end of my foil?
I glanced down at my watch, a stainless-steel Movado that Gran had given me for my sixteenth birthday. Two minutes till nine. Drumming my fingers against the couch’s curved arm, I suddenly wished I had waited in my room. I looked way too eager sitting here, watching the minutes drag by.
Just then awareness shot through me and I turned toward the door as Aidan strode in, ignoring the curious glances and excited whispers that seemed to follow him wherever he went.
“Hey,” he called out, and I stood up, nervously smoothing down my sweater.
As usual I couldn’t even speak — all I could do was stare at him. He looked great, wearing jeans and a blue button-down shirt left undone over a vintage rock T-shirt. There was a cut on his forehead, above his right eye, that hadn’t been there earlier in the day.
Wow, you look amazing, came his voice in my head.
I blushed, realizing that maybe he’d been checking me out while I’d been busy doing the same to him.
I took a deep breath, deciding to give it a try. Why not? You look great, yourself.
His smile let me know he’d heard me. He reached for my hand, and I let him take it.
Only then did I realize that the lounge had grown silent. Everyone was staring at us.
“You ready?” he asked, aloud this time.
“Sure,” I managed to mumble, dropping his hand so I could reach for my jacket.
“Great, let’s go.”
I followed him out, barely aware that he had taken my hand again, his fingers intertwined with mine. “So, where are we going?” I asked as soon as we left the crowded lounge behind.
“You’ll see. Here, you better put your jacket on.”
I shrugged into it as we paused by the door leading out.
Leaves crunched beneath my boots as we made our way silently across the quadrangle, lit by a full harvest moon. Kids milled about, some sitting on blankets benea
th a sprawling old oak; others hurrying toward the theater. Their voices carried on the breeze — young, carefree voices, calling out to one another in greeting, laughing, chatting. Everything about it seemed perfectly normal, like any boarding school. It was easy to forget that everyone I saw had psychic powers of some kind, and that the gorgeous guy holding my hand could read my mind.
“I’ll stop doing it, if it’ll make you feel better.”
I rolled my eyes in frustration. “That’s really not fair,” I said, hurrying my pace to keep up with him.
“How are the blocking lessons going, by the way?”
An owl hooted in the distance. “Horrible. I’ve only had one lesson, but I can’t seem to get the hang of it.”
“Well, it takes practice. Okay, this is it, this path right here.”
I followed him toward a stone building up ahead, all silvery in the moonlight. “What is it?”
“An exact replica of the King’s College Chapel at Cambridge, only smaller. Can you climb a ladder in those boots?”
“A ladder?”
“Trust me, it’s worth it.”
As we drew closer to the building, I saw twin spires reaching up toward the night sky above a soaring arch of stained glass. I couldn’t wait to get inside.
I almost expected the big wooden doors to be locked, but they weren’t. We slipped inside without saying a word, and stopped in what I supposed was a small vestibule. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark.
Aidan led me farther into the chapel, toward the rearmost pew. As my eyes continued to adjust, the details came slowly into focus, stealing away my breath.
Tipping my head back, I marveled at the sight of the vaulted ceiling, the intricate design looking almost like lace. With only the moon casting its light through the rows of floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows, the stonework glittered like jewels.
In a split second, sconces lining both walls flickered to life, filling the space with soft, yellow-tinted candlelight. I gasped, taking a step backward in fright, prepared to flee. But Aidan held my hand tightly, preventing my escape. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his breath warm against my cheek.
My fear was soon replaced by wonder. The light of the candles made everything look different — eerily beautiful, and, I don’t know. somehow mystical.
“Come on, you haven’t seen the best of it,” Aidan urged, moving down the aisle, past the rows of wooden pews and toward the altar at the end. I followed alongside him, a death-grip on his hand. I was scared yet fascinated, all at once. How had he lit the candles? I mean, obviously he had done it with his mind, but how?
We passed the altar and moved toward the very back of the chapel, through a door, and up a dark spiral staircase. I trailed one hand across the rough stones as we climbed higher and higher. Finally we reached a wide landing, a wooden railing running across the front of it. I stopped and leaned against it, looking out. I could see the entire chapel below us, straight across to the entrance and the arched window above it. In the flickering candlelight it all looked surreal, like something out of a dream.
“This is amazing,” I said, letting out my breath in a rush as I drank in the view.
“We’re not there yet.” He reached for my hand and pulled me back to his side. “This is where the ladder comes in. You sure you’re okay in those boots?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he promised. “Okay, right here. You go on, hold tightly with both hands. It’s ten rungs.”
He was right; I counted.
“Now reach for the railing, there to your right. Got it?”
I nodded as I felt around for the railing I was supposed to find. There it was — smooth wood, against the wall. “Yep, I’ve got it.”
“Okay, move as far away from the ladder as you can, still holding on to the railing. It’s okay, I’m right here behind you.”
As if he needed to tell me. I was totally aware of his presence. I could have sworn that I felt it physically, like a. a string or something, connecting us. It made me think of Cece and her astral cord. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I did what he asked and moved away from the ladder, my boots shuffling noisily against the floor.
About twenty steps away, I felt a wall, and stopped.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
I felt him move away from me, heard a rustling over in the corner. I wondered how it was that he could see well enough to do whatever it was he was doing.
“Close your eyes,” he said, and I felt his hand take mine. As always, a shudder ran up my arm, then down my back. “Sit down, right here.” He pulled me down beside him, onto a soft, fluffy blanket of some sort. It felt like velvet — soft, worn velvet. “Okay, just lie back.”
I kept my eyes squeezed shut; his voice was like a ghost’s beside me. But I did just as he said, and felt my head settle onto something soft.
“Now open your eyes,” he said.
I did — and sucked in my breath sharply. Directly above us was a square window, framing the full moon. Wispy, featherlike clouds cloaked the lower half, drifting across in slow motion. It looked so close, the moon — so bright and clear that I felt like I could reach up and touch it. I raised one arm, my hand stretched out toward the sight, and for a second I could have sworn that the clouds brushed against my skin, feeling somehow cool and damp against my fingers.
“It’s wonderful!” I breathed, squeezing his hand. My focus shifted then, and I was totally aware of him, his body next to mine, touching me from shoulder to heel.
“I knew you’d like it. This is my favorite place on campus; I come here every full moon. Before now I’ve always come alone.”
“Thank you,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t enough, not really.
“It’s plenty, Violet. And you’re welcome.”
I smiled in the dark, imagining his face. “How did you get the blanket and pillows up here?” I asked at last. “I can’t imagine carrying it all up that steep ladder.”
I felt him shrug beside me. “How else would I get it up here?”
Good question. “So, this is what you do in your spare time?” I teased. “Climb things? Interesting.”
“Yeah, if the view’s worth it. What about you? In your spare time? Fencing, right?”
“Yeah. My dad. he believed strongly that a girl should know how to take care of herself. So, when I was little, he wanted to start me in some kind of martial arts. You know, karate or something. I tried it, but I never liked it. It’s just too. I don’t know, too personal,” I said with a shrug. “So I tried fencing lessons instead. Right away I loved it. I was good, too. Really good,” I added proudly.
“And fencing’s not as personal?” I could hear the amusement in his voice, and it made me smile.
“No way. Your opponent’s on the other end of a weapon, for one. And being inside the protective gear, the gloves, the mask. I don’t know, I can’t really explain it. It’s like a cocoon or something.”
“Interesting,” he murmured. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”
“And anyway, after my dad died. well, it somehow makes me feel closer to him.”
“So it’s just you and your mom now?”
“Stepmom,” I corrected. “Long story. Anyway, it’s my turn.”
“What is it you want to know?”
So much, I realized. I knew almost nothing about him. “For starters, how about where you’re from.”
“From Dorset, England,” he answered. “At least, originally.”
“Huh. I guess that explains the little bit of an accent.”
“You’ve got a good ear,” he said with a laugh. “I thought I’d lost it entirely by now.”
“Where are your parents now? Here in the States?”
“No, they’re long dead,” he said, sounding strangely dispassionate.
“I’m sorry.” We had that in common, then. Both of us orphans. “No brothers or sisters?” I assumed he was like the re
st of us — an only child.
“Actually, I had two younger sisters. But they’re dead as well.”
“That’s terrible.” I didn’t know what else to say. His whole family, gone?
He shrugged. “It was a very long time ago.”
Still, I felt badly for prying. I knew how it felt to lose a family member and then have people prod you for details.
“You loved your father very much, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice soft.
I swallowed hard, amazed that I was even considering talking about it. “Yeah, I did. I still can’t believe he’s gone. I mean, he used to be gone for months at a time, on assignment. But he always came back.” My throat tightened, and I forced myself to continue. “Until the one time he didn’t.”
“He was a journalist?”
I blinked up at the night sky, watching as the last wisps of clouds drifted away from the moon, leaving it entirely exposed. “Yeah,” I answered at last. “A correspondent for a cable news network.”
“Where did it happen?”
“Afghanistan. We didn’t hear from him for nearly a month and the network had no idea where he was or who had him. And then the kidnappers.
they released a. a videotape.”
“But you already knew, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, shuddering at the memory of the horrific vision.
“There are some things in this world that are worse than monsters, aren’t there?”
I nodded. It was a strange thing to say, but he was right. “He was so mad at me when he left; he thought I was being selfish. I had seen everything — his kidnapping, his murder. I tried to tell him, tried to convince Patsy to make him stay, but he was furious. Said I shouldn’t scare Patsy like that, that she had enough to worry about with him away.”
“You can’t blame yourself, Violet.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. “I should have done more to stop him.”
“What could you possibly have done to stop him? Some people don’t want to believe anything beyond the ordinary. They walk right into danger with their eyes wide open, refusing to see what’s right in front of them.”
I knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. “I should have made him see.”