Invisibility

by Andrea Cremer

  “I know,” she says. “But you’re going to have to help me first.”

  We make our own way out.

  We don’t speak until we’re safely outside, three blocks away.

  It’s like it suddenly hits Elizabeth. One moment she’s walking, and the next she’s shaking. We sit her down on a park bench, tell her to take deep breaths.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I just need to . . .”

  “Release it,” Laurie says.

  We sit down next to her.

  “You were brilliant,” I say.

  “You really saw that stuff, didn’t you?” Laurie asks. “About her sister.”

  Elizabeth nods. “It was so unbelievably strange. It was just . . . there. She was right—it’s like a sense. Only I hadn’t known to use it before.”

  “And what you said about her not seeing another spellseeker for twenty years—that was amazing,” Laurie says. “You saw that too?”

  “No,” Elizabeth tells him. “That was just a guess.”

  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” I tell her.

  “What? Why?”

  “For dragging you into this. I mean, this is a whole lot to deal with. And if you’d never met me, you never would have known.”

  “I have a feeling this was going to happen sooner or later,” Elizabeth tells me. “Maybe I wouldn’t have guessed this week, but whatever. What’s done is done. And I’m not going to regret meeting you.”

  “Not yet,” I say.

  “Never,” she swears.

  “Lovebirds?” Laurie interjects. “Can we put off the mating call for a sec? Methinks we have some bigger issues on the table. You know, the whole magic-exists-in-the-world thing? Am I the only one who’s a little freaked out by that?”

  “It’s not much of a surprise to me,” I admit. “Then again, I have been invisible my whole life.”

  “I’m completely freaked out,” Elizabeth says. “To the point that I’m afraid of what I’m going to see, now that I know I’m supposed to be able to see spells and curses. I mean, I imagine it would be more productive to be able to see, like, parking spots. Or people having emergencies I can actually help with.”

  “I, for one, am feeling a little left out of the magic bandwagon,” Laurie proclaims. “Unless, of course, I’m really a spellcaster. I mean, I’ve cast spells on plenty of boys. But, wait—that wasn’t magic. That was just because I’m so damn purty.”

  Elizabeth swats his shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re taking this seriously. Really, I appreciate it.”

  “I’m just trying to have some quality bonding time with you before they send you off to magic school.”

  I know I should jump in and banter too—it’s definitely improving Elizabeth’s mood, and it’s making the situation a little less scary than it felt when we were in Millie’s hexatorium. But we’re also dodging the big question—which is, what should we do next?

  I still feel guilt that I’ve pulled Elizabeth and Laurie into this. Now that I know how it destroyed my mother, I don’t want it to destroy anyone else.

  When we get back to our floor, Elizabeth lingers in the hallway. Laurie gets the hint and heads back into their apartment, leaving the two of us alone.

  “You’re allowed to walk away,” I tell her.

  She smiles. “I know. But in this case, I think I’d rather walk towards.”

  Still, I can see there’s a lot going on inside her. I might not be a spellseeker, but I can certainly read a face.

  She’s scared. Strong, but scared.

  Chapter 14

  I LIE IN STEPHEN’S ARMS, twining and untwining my fingers with his. I think I’ve been here an hour, maybe two. I came back to Stephen’s apartment the moment I heard Mom leave for work. When Stephen answered my knock at his door, we didn’t speak. He took my hand and led me to the couch where we’ve been curled up ever since. Time seems meaningless—an arbitrary marker in a world that is full of possibilities and problems I’d never dreamed of before today.

  We haven’t been talking, but the absence of futile words that fail to put together everything we’ve seen and heard in the past few days is comforting. His eyes meeting mine helps to clear my addled brain. His hands tracing the shape of my body, and his lips on mine, can make me forget everything I’ve just learned to be afraid of. At least for a little while.

  Even so, I’m starting to fidget. The brief wash of calm offered by his touch is giving way to another flood of questions about who I am. I’m realizing, somewhat ashamedly, that all along I’ve thought of this as all about Stephen. His invisibility. His problem. His curse. His family. My involvement is only a fluke.

  But as it happens, this whole mess is about me too. I don’t know where to begin. I don’t know who I am anymore.

  “You okay?” Stephen asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, but I sound as unconvincing as I feel.

  Stephen doesn’t try to stop me as I sit up. “You need to be alone again.”

  I give him a smile, grateful that he can read my moods so easily. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be.” He brushes his hair out of his eyes. Dark hair that only I can see. I reach out to touch it. Wondering why it’s me. Wondering why he is visible to my eyes alone. Even another person like me can’t see him . . . another spellseeker . . . It’s still so strange to have a new category to place myself in. Before, I was Elizabeth . . . Jo . . . daughter . . . sister . . . would-be writer/artist. Now this.

  I let my hand drop before my fingers touch Stephen’s hair, the impulse borne away by a renewed frenzy of thoughts.

  “It’s a lot to process,” he says, watching me as I begin to shift my weight.

  “Yeah,” I say again. Great. My new identity has transformed me into an obsessive narcissist. I can’t stop thinking about who I am and what it means, but Stephen is still invisible. Still cursed.

  “Honestly, I need to sleep for a while longer,” he says; the weariness in his eyes lets me know he’s passed as restless a night as I had.

  I nod, trying to smile at his affection, but remain distracted.

  “You know where to find me.” He’s already wandering out of the room, and it occurs to me that I’m not the only distracted one. Both of our worlds have been shaken up. He needs time to sort out all the layers of family, magic, and betrayal that I do. We had our time to hold each other. To simply be. But now we’re being pulled apart by divergent needs. We each need to figure out what our stories are. Some things we’ll be able to do together. Others will leave us on our own.

  The moment he’s out of sight, I’m regretting saying I needed alone time. My stomach feels hollow, the way it does when I wake up from a nightmare and remember that I’m too old to call out for my mother.

  I head back to my apartment and, like Stephen, make a beeline for my room. Laurie isn’t in sight, but when I’m walking down the hall, I hear him on the phone. I consider popping my head in to make sure he hasn’t decided to share the outcome of our quest with Sean. But I’m just too tired to risk any sort of argument, so I pass his door and go to my room.

  I think I’ll go back to bed, just like Stephen said he planned to. But a few minutes after flopping onto the mattress, I know sleep is not an option. My mind won’t stop. The noise in my head is like a ceaseless drumroll where the cymbal crash never comes. It is maddening.

  I roll onto my side, pulling my art supplies out from under the bed. When in doubt: draw. Free sketching is not an option. I need something that will completely absorb me in the work, so I decide to throw myself into the story I’ve been working on. It’s what I hope someday to pitch to Vertigo or Dark Horse to make my way into the world of graphic novels and comics.

  Flipping through the sketches—some complete with inks and dialogue, others only husks of scenes—my hands slow as I’m turning the pages. I’d been calling it The Shadowbound because it’s a story about people whose steps are dogged by an unseen force that shapes each moment of their existence, usually for the worse. I stare at t
he page, peering at my own work. My hands begin to shake.

  I lied to Millie.

  And to myself.

  “They’re cursed,” I whisper. I go back, gazing at each drawing, watching as the unfinished illustrations uncover a world full of people tormented by magics they don’t understand and are desperate to be free of.

  I can see the spells. I’ve been drawing them all along. That’s why I can draw Stephen, while Millie can sense him but not see him.

  I’ve discovered my natural talent. It’s been within me, latent, waiting to be recognized for what it is.

  I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to perfect a maniacal laugh that will get me checked into a mental institution so I don’t accidentally see anything I’m not ready to deal with. Then I wonder if half the people in mental institutions are there because of curses.

  Pushing the portfolio away like it might burn me, I back towards my bedroom door. Then suddenly I’m whirling around, slamming it behind me as I bolt through the apartment.

  “Hey!” Laurie shouts from the couch where he’s watching TV. “Where’s the fire?”

  I don’t answer as I throw open the front door and run down the hall. I skip the elevator. I can’t wait for anything. I’m running down the stairs.

  The fire is in my blood, surging through my veins. I have to know if I’m right.

  I don’t stop until I’m outside our building. I lean over, resting my hands on my knees, gulping air as I wait for my heart to slow.

  Someone is crouching beside me. “Are you okay?”

  Laurie’s face is scrunched up. It reminds me of the day when he was nine and his pet hamster got sick.

  I nod, still trying to catch my breath.

  “You see, I don’t really accept that answer,” he says. “You nearly broke the sound barrier getting out of our apartment.”

  I straighten. “I just . . . figured something out.”

  His brows lift.

  “I’ll just be gone for a little while,” I say, starting to walk away. He grabs my arm.

  “Uh-uh.” Laurie turns me to face him. “What’s up?”

  “Seriously,” I say. “It’s okay.”

  “You’re going back to that weirdo shop with bonus library crypt, aren’t you?” he says, frowning. “That lady didn’t do anything to help us.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “This is something else.”

  “But something related to our quest.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Because I don’t think you’re running to the store for milk. We’re out, by the way.”

  I look at him for a moment. Part of me thinks this is a solitary quest. But I’m also terrified.

  I decided to meet him halfway. “It’s my drawings.”

  “What about them?” he asks.

  “My art is all about people who are cursed . . . at least I think it is.”

  His eyes widen. “Whoa. For real?”

  “I’m pretty sure . . . but I need to go for a walk.”

  “How is a walk going to help?” Laurie tilts his head at me.

  “I need to look at people.” It sounds really dumb as I say it. But I know it’s true. I have to watch them . . . and see.

  Laurie rolls his shoulders back. “Okay. Let’s go for a walk.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m going. You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do,” he says. “I’m not letting you wander through magical Manhattan on your own. Spellseeker or not, you’re a novice. I don’t want any spelltraffickers abducting your naive-ass self for nefarious purposes.”

  “I really don’t think there are spelltraffickers,” I say. But I wonder. There could be anything.

  He sees the thought flicker over my face. “See. You know I’m right. Think of me as your non-magical wingman.”

  “Fine,” I say, not wanting to sound as relieved as I feel that he’s coming along. “But if you distract me, I’ll send you packing.”

  “The non-magical wingman will never distract our heroine!” He pauses and then sighs mournfully. “Oh, man.”

  “What?” I’ve taken off down the sidewalk and Laurie keeps pace at my side.

  “As non-magical wingman, I am doomed,” he says, though he’s grinning at me. “The superfluous sidekicks never make it to the end of the story.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I could make references to oodles of literary and film examples to prove you wrong, but you already know I’m right.”

  “You aren’t doomed,” I say, walking faster, “because I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”

  He looks at his feet because he knows it’s true.

  “Let’s stop here,” I say. We’re in front of a bodega with a large awning. I pretend to peruse the cartons of fruit, but I’m watching the other customers.

  “What do we do?”

  I shush him, but when he gives me puppy eyes, I quail. “Fine. You buy something so we look legit and then just let me figure this out.”

  Happy to have a task, Laurie gets serious with the fruit inspection, fussing over the ripeness of various bananas.

  I take a deep breath and try to do again what I did with Millie. I concentrate while I let the world fall away. I can’t let the blaring horns on the street or the hardness of the pavement or even the breeze pull me back into the moment. My vision gets slightly blurred. And I go there.

  I don’t know where it is. Even in the couple of times I’ve managed to do it, I’m not sure what it is. I’ve started to think about it as “the background.” It’s like the regular universe that I live in is still there, but I can see what’s going on behind the scenes. And behind the scenes is where the magic lives.

  Despite the wavering quality of the scene before me, I worry it’s not working. I can’t feel or see anything different about the people around me. Then I notice the woman at the curb. At first I sense the energy around her. It’s choppy, like static. I draw another slow breath and try to withdraw even further into the background. That’s when the static takes shape. It hovers around her like the shadows I sketched, amorphous, always moving, full of a life of their own. Living spells. I can see particles falling around her like bits of straw. And it’s not good. I’m beginning to grasp the mechanics of controlling my ability to see curses. I don’t think I like it.

  “Anything?”

  Laurie’s voice snaps me back to the bodega.

  “What did I say about interruptions?” I glare at him.

  “Sorry.” He offers me an apple. “But if you stare off into space for too long, it’s gonna blow our cover.”

  He’s probably right, and he did manage to find a Granny Smith that looks perfect. I take a bite, enjoying its tartness.

  “So what’s the deal?” he asks, looking around as if expecting evidence of the new, magical me to be lying around.

  “That lady.” I nod in her direction. Laurie cranes his head to look at her. She’s trying to hail a cab. She’s been trying to hail a cab for half an hour. I know this, though I’ve only been watching her for five minutes. “She can’t get a cab,” I say, chewing thoughtfully on the apple chunk.

  “Sometimes it takes a while,” Laurie says.

  I smile because as weird as it is, it’s still kind of funny. “No. I mean she can’t get a cab. She’s cursed.”

  Laurie snorts. “Cursed to not get a cab.”

  “I know it doesn’t really make sense.” I shrug. “But that’s the curse.”

  “That’s pretty lame,” Laurie says.

  I’m thinking about the movement of the spell, frenetic and unstable.

  “You’ve got that look.” Laurie is peering at me.

  “What look?” I compose my face into what I hope is “normal Elizabeth.”

  He laughs. “The look that you get when you’re about to get a forty-point word in Scrabble.”

  I crack a smile. “I think I might be starting to understand how the spells work.”

  “Really?” He’s still laughing, but his ey
es are bright with interest.

  “So, it’s like what you just said,” I say. “The cab thing. She can’t get one, which is annoying, but not life and death . . . not like Stephen.”

  He nods.

  “And her curse was . . . wobbly,” I say, wishing I could think of a better word. “It felt off balance, like it wouldn’t hold together much longer. So what if the way I sense the spell has to do with how strong, or bad, it is?”

  “It’s a theory,” Laurie says. “Why don’t you try again?”

  I chew my lip. Laurie steps aside, making it obvious that he will no longer distract me. I giggle and it takes me a minute to be able to let go of the world and move into the background. But once I’m there it’s only a few seconds before she catches my eyes.

  The woman is moving through the crowded street with purpose. She’s decked head to toe in designs that are meticulous and refined without being ostentatious. Her cell phone rings. It takes less than two minutes for her to finalize the deal she’s been working on all day. It looks like she’d love to skip down the street in celebration, but that wouldn’t help the image she so carefully built over the years. As she sweeps past me, I see the spell swirling around her. It surges and shimmers, a snowfall gently pouring over her. The tinkling of bells and a child’s laughter chase in her wake.

  “Wow,” I say, blinking away the giddiness that coursed through me when the spell was near.

  Laurie comes to attention. “Another one?”

  “A good one this time,” I say. “She was surrounded by success.”

  “How does success look?” he asks.

  I cringe a little. “Sparkly. It didn’t wobble. It poured.”

  Laurie pretends to wipe his brow. “Well, it’s a relief to know it’s not only curses out there. Maybe we can cast a spell that will get Sean to ask me out?”

  “Laurie,” I groan.

  “I was kidding.” He holds his hands up pleadingly, but I can see the gears working in his mind.

  “No spells.” I shake a finger at him before taking another bite of the apple while I ponder our next move.

  “Nothing for you?” I ask, noting that he isn’t chomping on fruit like me.