And while I know it’s far from over, it feels good to have this one moment, alone with the Mystyx, laughing, for once.
twenty-two
Later that evening when I arrive at the office building on Main Street, I see that Lindsey is already there.
“Mr. Bryant’s already left for the evening. He seemed kind of nervous, something about meeting bigwigs in Washington,” she tells me as we creep around to the side of the building.
It’s really dark out tonight. Even though it’s only like ten minutes to eight, the sky is already fully dark as if it were midnight. Before I left the house I heard on the six o’clock news that there was a thunderstorm watch. But it doesn’t seem like thunderstorm weather to me.
“Who is he meeting with?” I ask.
Lindsey shakes her head. “I couldn’t get that much.”
When I look back at her she’s frowning. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, but I don’t really believe her.
She looks a little distant, like she’s thinking about something, trying to figure it out. I don’t know what it is, so I figure we’ll deal with the matter at hand, then deal with her personal problems.
“Have you heard from Krystal and Jake?” I hadn’t talked to either of them since we’d left the woods and gone our separate ways. I’d offered everyone a ride home, but they declined. I think we kind of wanted a moment alone to think about what had just happened. So I didn’t push.
“We’re here,” Jake says from behind me.
I turn and see him and Krystal walking towards us.
“So what’s the game plan?” Krystal asks, but she’s not looking at me, so I figure we must still be on the outs.
“Mr. Bryant’s already gone, so it’s clear for us to go in. Did you bring the flash drive?” she asks Jake.
“Yeah, I got it.” He pulls it out of his pocket and shows us the small black device that looks just like the one in Mr. Bryant’s office.
“What about the security guards? How do we get past them?” Krystal says.
“Shoot, didn’t think about them.” Jake frowns.
“Sasha, you go,” Lindsey suggests. “Use your power to get into the office. Nobody will even know you’re in the building.”
“Ah, okay,” I say, not sure I’m liking the plan where I do this alone. Still, I hold out my hand for the flash drive.
He gives it to me and says, “Be careful.”
“No problem,” I say, like sure, I teleport into offices and play the switcheroo game every day.
I take a few steps back from them and close my eyes. In seconds, I’m in Mr. Bryant’s office by myself.
Because it’s so dark outside, it’s even darker in here. The last thing I want to do is turn on a light and risk somebody just happening to drive by and see it on, so I’m working on memory alone as I walk around.
“Ow!” I hit my knee on the desk that I knew was there but misjudged the distance.
Okay, so the file cabinet was across the room from the desk. I turn around, keeping my hands behind me so I can feel the desk. I’m thinking about seven steps were what I took before I was standing right next to Jake, who was near the file cabinet.
Counting off, I stop right at seven and reach my hands out in front of me. I don’t feel anything.
“Crap.” I sigh and think of what I’m going to do next. Nothing bright is coming to mind. I just keep returning to the idea of turning on that lamp.
But then my side starts to warm and I start to smile. This power really is starting to work in conjunction with my emotions. My shirt is tucked into my jeans, so I hurriedly pull it out, bringing it around the front of me and tying a quick knot with the excess material. I’m glowing now, or at least my M is, and the fluorescent pink light is giving me just enough illumination to see.
The cabinet is just to my left about another step or two. I’m happy to learn my memory wasn’t that far off. I don’t want to waste any more time, so I move to the cabinet and pull open the top drawer. My fingers quickly whisper over the files, stopping on the one marked “Project S.” I’m still trying to figure out why S? Maybe I’m just so hung up on our M. S could stand for supernatural, I guess.
That’s what I’m thinking as I pull the file free from the cabinet and open it up. The flash drive had been in a small pouch in the front inside flap of the file folder. “Had been” being the operative phrase.
It’s not there.
My fingers move over the pouch, but it’s empty.
Flipping through the pages to the back of the file folder, I see another pouch, but that’s empty, too.
I want to curse or scream. Or both. Instead I simply sigh.
Where is it? Did Mr. Bryant know that we were in here before? Did he know that we were on to him?
Closing the file cabinet, I’m thinking of how I’m going to tell the others that this little operation was a bust when I appear again in front of them.
“Did you get it?” Jake asks first.
The others look at me expectantly, and I feel like such a heel to be bearing the bad news. “No. It wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t there? Where is it?”
I sigh. “If I knew that, Jake, I’d teleport there and get it.”
“Bryant took it,” Krystal says. “You think he knew someone was in his office? What if there’re cameras in there?”
We’re quiet because, the fact is, Jake and I never gave that possibility any thought.
Then I shake my head. “If Mr. Bryant knew I was in his office, I’m sure he would have told my dad.”
Jake smirks. “And your dad would have done what?”
“Let’s just say I’m sure I wouldn’t be out here with you tonight if he knew.”
And speaking of my dad…
“We should go back to my place.”
“For what?” Jake and Krystal ask in unison.
“Because I think that’s where we can get some more answers.” Dinner had been already prepared by the time I’d made it home from school. But Casietta hadn’t been there. Her and I were supposed to talk when I came home, but she’d conveniently disappeared. I hadn’t been too pressed about it at the time because I’d wanted to be alone in my room until it was time for me to slip out and come downtown. But now I’m beginning to wonder what she’s hiding.
“I don’t want to go to your house,” Krystal says adamantly.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Lindsey says. “Look, we’re all in this together. If there are answers back at Sasha’s house, then that’s where we should go.”
Krystal rolls her eyes. Jake shrugs. And I finally lead the way.
Nobody greeted us when we walked through the front door. And we’d been in the family room for more than fifteen minutes before Casietta came in.
“Your parents are out for the night,” she said, glancing around the room.
The furniture in here is all Italian leather, soft to the touch, comfortable to sit on but the weirdest shade of green I’ve ever seen. It never fails to amaze me, when I come in here, how these colors don’t quite seem to mix. The thick rug covering glossy hardwood floors is dark orange, almost brown, I guess. The curtains are a combo of the two, and the paintings throughout add even more colors. It is like this is the one room my mother forgot to have professionally decorated.
Jake and Krystal sit next to each other on the love seat, while Lindsey moves about in her usual graceful manner. Occasionally her hand reaches, touches, the back of a chair, a pillow, the base of the coffee-colored lamp on the end table near the window. She has something on her mind, something other than what happened tonight. I’m almost positive of that fact.
Casietta stands in the middle of the room now. Her face looks worried, and she’s rubbing her hands together in front of her.
I am about to say something when Mouse comes in. My mouth closes instantly because Mouse never comes into the house. Ever.
But he is here now, closing the door quietly behind him
.
“He’s taken another one,” he says solemnly, looking at Casietta.
So I look at Casietta, hoping for a clue to what he’s talking about.
“That bus was coming back from a religious retreat. They were just children learning how to do good. It’s not right,” she says, turning away, then walking toward the window where Lindsey is now standing.
The minute Casietta’s close, Lindsey reaches out a hand and touches her arm.
“Your grief is overwhelming. But your fear is greater. What is it that’s scaring you so?”
With an astonished look, Casietta glares at Lindsey, then her whole body seems to deflate as she sighs. “You have the power to see my thoughts. I wondered what you’d bring to them when you came.”
“You knew Lindsey was a Mystyx?” I ask.
“I know who and what all of you are. The question is how did you know?”
Jake shrugs. “We found my great-grandmother’s journal and then my grandfather told us some stuff.”
Casietta chuckles. “I knew Louis would never be able to keep his mouth closed. Talks too much he does. Always has.”
“You know Jake’s grandfather?” Krystal asks incredulously.
“Yes,” Casietta says, nodding her head. There’s a swishing sound as she starts to walk from the window back to the center of the room. I think it’s the nylons that she always wears beneath whatever floral dress she chooses for the day. “We share a common goal.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
“To protect you. All of you.”
This is Mouse speaking in that eerily deep voice of his that doesn’t really sound like English but isn’t any foreign accent that I’ve been able to figure out.
“How are you going to protect us?” Jake asks.
Lindsey chimes in, “And what are you protecting us from?”
Casietta takes a deep breath, then releases it. “She was supposed to explain it all to you. But things are moving a lot faster than any of us thought they would.”
“He is ready,” Mouse says.
I’m still amazed that he’s in here. And he looks so uncomfortable. Actually, he looks like he’s taking up more space than is available in this room. Which is crazy since this is no small room. Still, Mouse looks oddly out of place.
“She knew this would happen. She knew he’d come for them. They’re all that’s stopping him.”
Krystal clears her throat and raises her hand like she’s in a classroom, and they—Casietta and Mouse—are the teachers. “Um, excuse me, but can somebody tell us what you’re talking about?”
“You know what we are,” I start saying, even though it’s more than obvious that they know. I’m just trying to make sense of all this. How have Casietta and Mouse known all along? And do my parents know? “You’ve known all along and you never said anything to me.”
Casietta begins shaking her head, the tight bun at the bottom not moving an inch. The droopy skin of her cheeks moves a bit, but her eyes remain steady as she stares at me. “They come to me in the middle of the night and wake me. They say, ‘take her, you must take care of her.’ I don’t know what to do, but then she came to me, with so much bright light. She told me what would eventually happen and I believed her. I say I will take care of you.”
“Who is ‘she’? My mother?”
“Oh, no.” Casietta starts shaking her head adamantly. “No, Señora, she did not know. Señor say it’s not true. He think it is all not real.”
“Wait a minute, I don’t understand. If my mother didn’t tell you to take care of me, who did?”
Casietta’s gaze goes to Mouse who looks grim as he folds his arms over his chest.
“You have to go to her and ask for the truth. It is time. She will tell you.”
“Okay, is anybody else in here tired of trying to figure out who ‘she’ is?” Jake says.
“I mean, really, why can’t you just tell us?” Krystal counters.
Lindsey just shakes her head. “They are bound by some kind of oath to keep quiet. It’s like a shield up in their minds, blocking it out, so that just in case they were ever tempted to tell all, they can’t.”
With a sneaking suspicion of what’s about to happen, I add, “Or they’re just blocking you out.”
Walking from where I was standing behind the couch, I stop right in front of Mouse. Saying I have to almost break my neck looking up at him is not an exaggeration. But I do it anyway because I want him to know how serious I am about this. “Who is ‘she’? Is it Styx?”
“She asked you to come to her.” I hear Casietta’s voice from behind. “The message on the computer says for you to come to her for your answers. You read the curse on the letter so she knew it was time you all know the truth.”
I’m going to have serious neck injuries after this night. I whip around fast to see Casietta. “You’re talking about Fatima? She’s the witch I contacted that lives in Bridgeport.”
“No witch.” Casietta nods. “Just a messenger.”
“Contact her again, Sasha,” Krystal says, coming to the edge of the chair, looking at me with a silent plea in her eyes. “Send her another email or something. Just get us some answers.”
Okay, no pressure, right? Running my fingers through my hair, I try to figure out what Casietta and Mouse are telling me and what I was already thinking was true. If Fatima isn’t a witch, then who is she? Maybe our powers aren’t connected to witchcraft. Maybe everything we thought is wrong. Maybe…
“Sasha,” Casietta says. “You can contact her. You have done it before without the computer.”
Casietta, the woman who raised me in this house. The one who taught me both Spanish and English, who cleaned me up after I fell off my bike and busted both knees, the one who talked to me about boys and girls and reproduction, the one…who was right there after that first time. She’s known all along. She watched me grow, knowing that one day it would come to this.
“You mean astral project? That’s how I can contact her?”
Casietta nods her head in agreement.
Then I’m beginning to understand. “I’ve talked to her there before.”
“Yes,” Casietta says. “You can do it again.”
Mouse takes a step forward. “But this time we will watch you. He is ready and he will act the moment he knows you are there.”
“We will all watch you this time to make sure you come back. Si?”
Casietta’s nodding around the room, waiting for everyone to agree with her. Krystal is already standing up, shaking her head positively.
“Yeah, we’ll be right here,” Lindsey says.
Jake stands last, looking a little uncertain but joining in with everyone else.
I move to the couch, wondering if this is a good idea. Lying down, I put my fear into words. “What can he do to me if he catches me there?”
The room goes quiet. Jake, Krystal and Lindsey look to Casietta and Mouse for the answer.
Casietta closes her eyes. Mouse speaks up. “It is different there, rules are different.”
That’s way too cryptic for my liking. “And?”
“And he could kill you or capture you.”
I swallow deep because I figured this was the answer. “Okay, and what does he gain if he does either of those things?”
“You,” he says as he looks around at all of us, “are the only thing stopping him from what he wants. If he gets rid of you one by one or all together, he wins.”
“But, I don’t understand.” My words are cut off when Mouse touches a hand to my forehead.
This is different. Mouse has never touched me before. Ever. His hand on me now feels really weird, heavy and cold like ice. I’m looking into his eyes and see how dark they are, how perfectly round and dark. His brows are thick and bushy, but that’s all the hair he has on his head or his face. He’s not frowning, just wearing a bland expression that I feel like I should understand.
“Close your eyes and concentrate,” he says slowly.
It’s like I’m being hypnotized by his eyes and the sound of his voice because I instantly close my eyes. I know where it is I want to go, but this is different from teleporting.
I don’t focus on getting to the point. Instead, I focus on the power inside me, feeling it grow and spread throughout my body. I think this is like getting a blood transfusion. It’s moving through my veins at record speed, touching every nuance of my soul. My limbs feel heavy, like they’re sinking into the cushions of the chair.
I think I hear somebody soothing me, coaxing me to take my time. But the voices are growing distant. I’m traveling now, feeling the weightlessness of flying. A cool breeze swipes my face, ruffles my hair. I’m soaring, high above everything I know to be true. I’m leaving it behind, heading into the unknown—yet, familiar.
She’s calling me. I guess it’s Fatima or whoever she really is. I don’t hear a voice, just feel this physical tug inside that wants me to keep going. I don’t fight it, don’t try to rationalize it. I just keep going.
twenty-three
It’s different this time, here on this astral plane. Before, it was either really dark or super bright.
Now it just looks normal. Well, as normal as possible for another plane. Everything is white, but it looks like I’m in a room. There are four walls, and although I can’t see the outline of a door, there’s a gold knob that sort of gives me the indication that I can get out if I want to.
I take a tentative step. The white floor seems solid even though it looks cloudy. Another breeze blows by, so forceful that it makes me stumble. When I right myself, I see the smallest spot of light. I stop all movement, afraid that if I move I’ll lose sight of it. But I don’t because the small fleck of light grows and grows until its brightness is eventually tapped out, and in its place stands a woman.
As weird as all this seems, the woman looks rather normal. Her skin is the color of heavily creamed coffee, flawless and radiant. Her eyes are like this funny brown/gold combination with thick perfectly arched brows that make me just a tad jealous. One of my eyebrows is always arched a bit higher than the other, whether I do them myself or go to the mall to have them done. Never could figure that out.
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