Invisibility

by Andrea Cremer

  He is standing in front of the door. He wants me to know precisely where he is. Blocking my escape.

  I don’t say a word.

  “There’s no need to be afraid of me. What’s past is past. Since you have been keeping the company of spellseekers, I imagine you have some idea of what’s happened. Perhaps your mother told you. Or your father.”

  He is waiting for something from me. I will not give it to him.

  He tries to sound patient, but he’s not good at masking his displeasure. “I’m old, Stephen. I’m tired. I can only imagine what your mother told you, but believe me, there were two sides to that story. She wasn’t a strong woman, your mother. She didn’t want the power I could give her. But you, Stephen—you’re strong.”

  This time, he pretends I’ve responded.

  “How do I know you’re strong? Because I know your curse. I know what it must have taken to live with it. You have to be strong. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be alive.”

  “What do you want?” I ask quietly.

  “There you go. It’s good that we’re talking. I don’t want anything for myself, Stephen. Not really. What I want is for you to accept your birthright. As my time grows short, I want to give what’s left to you. It’s a powerful legacy—you must realize that. And I have no one else to give it to. No one deserves it more than you.”

  I fall silent again. He sounds reasonable, not malevolent. But he’s still the wolf at the door.

  “It’s easy to remove the curse,” he says. “Once you agree to it, I can do it in a matter of minutes. You will be visible to everyone. Think about it. What a life you’d have.”

  There’s a hitch. There has to be a hitch.

  “Say the word, Stephen. Tell me you don’t want to be invisible any longer.”

  I don’t trust you. Millie’s words are there. Even as my hopes want to take charge, want to make a deal with him, I know I don’t trust him. He’s not offering this out of the goodness of his heart, because there is no goodness in his heart.

  He laughs mirthlessly. “I should have known—you’re just like your mother.”

  This is not meant as a compliment.

  I want to yell at him. I want to tell him that he doesn’t even know the meaning of strength if he thinks my mother was weak. He can’t possibly imagine the hell he put her through, and what it took to navigate that. Especially with me. Especially with her invisible son, who she cared for every single day of her life. And, yes, ultimately it defeated her. Ultimately her body gave way. But she lasted long enough for me to become a person. She lasted long enough to know I’d survive.

  I don’t tell him any of this, though. I don’t yell. I don’t attack. Because I don’t want him to think I’m his enemy . . . even though I am.

  “Do you really mean it when you say I could be a cursecaster too?” I ask in a breathless whisper, as if he’s Santa granting my biggest, best wish.

  “Of course,” he intones. “You’re an Arbus, after all.”

  “You’d teach me?”

  I am guessing he nods, then realizes I can’t see it. There’s a pause, followed by him saying, “Yes. I would.”

  Right now, I could undo it. All I need is to tell him I want it, and he can end what I thought was a life sentence.

  But if I do that, he could put a new, different curse on me. And the energy from my old curse returning to him could make him even more powerful than before.

  I can’t risk it. But I also can’t risk him knowing I’m on to him.

  “I need time,” I say. “Not that much time, but a little. Because it will change everything. And I want to prepare for that.”

  “This isn’t something you need to think about,” he says, angry. “I am offering you what I imagine you’ve wanted your entire life. I may never offer it again. I’d advise you to accept.”

  I match his angry tone. “I didn’t get this far by making snap judgments. You say you want me to join the family business? Well, do you want a worker who’s impulsive, or do you want one who sees every angle? If you’re looking for someone stupid, there are millions of other people in this city you can choose.”

  This time, he’s the one who’s silent. I’ve pushed it too far, I think.

  Finally, he says, “I will give you twenty-four hours. And that, you’ll find, is very generous of me. You’ve seen what I can do to people. Don’t make the wrong decision, or a lot of people will pay for it.”

  The door opens and closes. I assume he’s left. But for all I know, he’s still here. Watching. Haunting. Knowing.

  He hasn’t told me how he’ll find me twenty-four hours from now.

  But I don’t imagine that’s going to be a problem.

  Not for him.

  Chapter 26

  I’M SO ACCUSTOMED TO Millie’s gentle shuffling back and forth within the confines of the hexatorium that I’m stunned by how quickly she moves now. With her silver hair flashing as it catches the afternoon sunlight, she flows into the swift current of Manhattan’s streets without pause and I’m rushing to catch her.

  Laurie’s noticed too. “What the hell does she put in her tea?” he huffs, running beside me as we find ourselves working to keep pace with Millie.

  “One lump of sugar and some milk,” I say with a groan when I lose sight of Millie in the crowd heading towards the Museum of Natural History. “Maybe she speed walks at malls with the other seniors.”

  “News flash, Josie,” Laurie returns. “We’re in Manhattan now. Mall-free zone. Malls are of our Minnesotan past.”

  I grab his hand, tugging him forward as I catch sight of Millie’s carefully pinned hairstyle bobbing in the sea of tourists.

  Laurie squeezes my fingers tight. “Is she trying to lose us?” He sounds a little hurt and a lot afraid.

  I understand. That’s how I’m feeling too.

  But not because Millie seems more intent on getting to her destination than making sure her sole pupil, and maybe the only other spellseeker still alive, is along for the trip. I can’t help but notice that the distance between us is growing. Where people keep stepping in front of me and Laurie, slowing us even more, the crowd adjusts itself to accommodate Millie’s determined stride.

  Part of me doesn’t blame her for not caring if I get left behind now. I haven’t exactly been a model student. Instead of letting the people who could help me get close, I’ve been pushing them out. As much as I’ve justified my choices and rogue spellseeking as necessities, as part of trying to solve the puzzle that is Stephen’s curse, I know that’s a lie too. Just another excuse to avoid the thing more frightening than magic or curses: trusting someone else. Loving someone else. Needing someone else.

  The lies we tell ourselves are the worst ones.

  The mass of bodies inhabiting Central Park West’s sidewalk has become a gridlock. Everywhere around me people are stopping, gawking across the street. Phones come out of pockets to shoot out a rapid fire of texts or take videos. Alarm throws an electric charge into the air, so palpable I can almost see it. I wonder if it means we’re all cursed now.

  “Keep your eye on Millie,” I tell Laurie. “Don’t lose sight of her.”

  Trusting that he’s heard me, I lift to my tiptoes, peering over the crowd—and I don’t blame them for staring.

  I must tense up, because Laurie gives my hand a gentle tug.

  “Still watching the target, I swear,” he says. “But what’s wrong?”

  “They’re closing the park.” I’m watching squad cars line up, lights flashing. The NYPD is setting up barricades, cutting off all traffic—including pedestrian—into Central Park. The iron-clad hoofbeats of police mounts clatter on the pavement as more officers arrive, blocking the paths of any observers whose curiosity brings them too close.

  Laurie is guiding me forward. My ears are open, my chest cramping as I hear the rising tide of panic in the voices of the other watchers.

  “The whole park? No. That can’t be right. Seriously? The whole thing?”

 
“Six people? I heard twenty!”

  “Please, not another attack. Not another.”

  “Damn right they should shut her down. Can’t let the bastards get out of there. Probably hiding in the woods.”

  “Bioterrorism? Oh my God. Should we get out of the city?”

  “Is it over? Did they get everyone out?”

  A much closer voice pulls me from the din. “Thank God.”

  “Thank God for what?” I ask Laurie, who’s pulling me sharply left.

  “Millie turned,” he answers. “I couldn’t handle that sidewalk a second longer.”

  I don’t know if he means the tangle of bodies that impede our progress or the infectious terror that’s infusing the crowd. My stomach is a hornet’s nest, alive and stinging me.

  Me and Stephen. Me and Stephen.

  Since I met him, even before I learned he was the invisible, cursed boy, this summer had been about us. Nothing else. We two. As if we existed outside of the rest of the world. Exceptional. Enviable for the space we’d been given to discover each other.

  When Mr. Swinton explained the cause of the curse and Millie explained curses to me, I’d been drawn back into the world—albeit a somewhat altered one. But deep down all that happened still meant one plus one equals us. Other details remained peripheral.

  Maxwell Arbus has in the space of hours relocated the periphery to center stage. And he’s bringing Manhattan—and once the news hits the national wires, likely the whole country—along for the ride. He doesn’t mind tormenting strangers to advance his petty agenda. Maybe terrorist is a fitting label.

  Laurie is thinking about it too. “He’s crazy. Shutting down Central Park. Who does that?”

  “The bad guy,” I mutter.

  Free of the still-growing mob on Central Park West, Laurie drops my hand as we break into a run. I follow his gaze and see Millie waiting to cross Columbus again.

  The light changes and Millie hurries into the street. Laurie and I sprint to make the light.

  We get to the other side of Columbus with only one taxi blaring its horn at us, and I call it a win. Millie walks just a few yards ahead now. She pauses to look up at a blue awning. Her shoulders rise and fall, as though she’s taken a deep breath. Then she returns and enters the blue-awninged business.

  “It’s a coffee shop,” Laurie tells me when we reach the door.

  “I can read,” I snap, but don’t object when he flicks my forehead in punishment. He hasn’t earned my irritation, so I say, “Sorry.”

  “Forgiven.”

  I lead the way into the café. It’s a space that even the best real estate agent would have a hard time selling as cozy, since it’s crammed with four tables that barely afford walking space to the counter. It doesn’t help that one of the tables is occupied by a giant man whose bulk spills onto two dainty chairs. Millie is standing beside Saul, who sits staring straight ahead. His large hands are wrapped around a white mug, filled to the brim with black coffee.

  “Approach with caution,” Laurie murmurs from behind me.

  “Duly noted,” I answer.

  When I get closer, I notice there isn’t steam rising from Saul’s cup. I wonder if he’s been here the whole time. Sitting. Waiting. For what?

  Millie’s voice rattles at Saul. “You don’t know that he’ll come here. Stop being such a mule about it.”

  Rather than answer her, Saul looks at my brother. “So that’s how you got out.”

  Millie glances at us, pursing her lips and giving me a short nod.

  “It was wrong of you to trap us, Saul.” Millie returns her attention to him, speaking as though she’s scolding a toddler. “You should apologize to me and to Elizabeth.”

  “I know my business,” Saul tells her. “It’s going to happen here. And here’s the last place you should be.”

  “Why are we here, anyway?” I ask Millie.

  “This establishment was my office and my home.” Millie takes a seat, her back straight with pride as she speaks. “Before Arbus found me here and drove me underground. The hexatorium once showed its face to the public.”

  Laurie snorts. “What did you put on the sign?”

  “We had no sign,” Millie answers. “Those who had need knew where to find me.”

  Smoothing a few silver flyaways that escaped their bobby pins, Millie sighs. “This space has had many lives since then. First it was a greasy spoon. Then a pastry shop. Then a wine bar. Then a cheaper-than-the-wine-bar bar. Now it serves coffee and the World Wide Web.”

  I glance around the café. Even in this tiny space, the few occupants are hunkered over their laptops. Or frantically texting. The staff are huddled near the espresso machine. Each face in the coffee shop is blanched with fear. No one is certain what’s happened.

  “What’s coming next?” I ask.

  “He’s hunting Millie,” Saul says.

  Millie reaches for him. Her hand, the tone and texture of an ancient peach, disappears in his grasp. “We can’t be sure of that.”

  “Arbus doesn’t hold grudges,” Saul barks. “He lives for them. Don’t be foolish about this, Mildred.”

  Millie blushes when he says her full name. “I didn’t think I would matter anymore. It’s been so many years.”

  Laurie coughs. “I don’t mean to belittle your, um, history, but I think you’re missing the point.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Teetering back a few steps when Saul scoffs at him, Laurie tells us, “It’s not that you’re wrong. I get it. Arbus lives for grudges.”

  “Don’t need my own words repeated to me, boy.” Saul’s one eye has mastered the skill of intimidating glares.

  “No question there, friend. Er, sir. Er.” Laurie gulps, waving his hands at his sides as if he’s working hard to stay afloat. “How to put this delicately . . .”

  Saul half rises, but Millie clucks her tongue and he sits again.

  With a sudden gasp, I clap my hand over my mouth.

  Laurie points at me. “Yes! Thank you. She gets it! Please help me out here, sis.”

  “He might come after you eventually.” I speak slowly, having to remember to take each breath. “But you’re not his most elusive prey. You’re not the one he’s hunting.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Saul growls at me. “You’re nothing more than a baby, learning to crawl in all of this.”

  “A baby is all this is about,” Laurie says quietly.

  Millie draws a sharp breath. “Oh.”

  “You said it yourself.” I hold Saul’s unfriendly gaze. “Arbus lives for grudges.”

  I look away from him so I can catch Millie’s eye. “You know there’s a grudge he holds that’s bigger than a professional one.”

  “His family,” Millie answers.

  “Stephen.” My voice cracks and all I can do is look at the floor.

  “And we just left him alone,” Laurie finishes for me.

  The four of us fall silent. The coffee shop remains abuzz with the clack of keyboards and the worried voices of the baristas.

  I sneak a glance at Saul. He’s shaking his head, but his grip on the coffee mug has gone slack. It’s not hard to understand why he so bullishly struck out on his own. Why he ended up here, the site of his last encounter with Maxwell Arbus. This place must teem with memories, both hard and sweet, of his life protecting Millie.

  In crises we fixate on keeping the things we love safe. I don’t think it was his work ethic that rendered Saul willing to fight on, half-blind because of a curse, until Millie was out of harm’s way.

  What gave Saul resolve is the same thing that has me backing away from the others. Then I’m out the door and I’m running. I’m halfway down the block when I hear Laurie shouting my name, but his voice fades quickly. My feet strike the pavement as fast as I can will them to. If the NYPD wasn’t already fully occupied by Arbus’s attack on Central Park, there’s no way I wouldn’t have been tackled by an officer. I knock over half a dozen hapless pedes
trians and almost overturn a stroller in my reckless flight. I don’t stop to apologize. Not once do I look back. I’m chased by every epithet in the dictionary and a few threats of violence.

  When I finally reach our building and blow past the doorman, my lungs are on fire and my thighs feel like rubber.

  The doorman follows me towards the elevator. “Are you all right, miss?”

  I’m bent over, gulping air, but I nod and wave him off. He gives me a dubious look, but fortunately the elevator arrives and I stumble inside, hitting the button for the third floor until the doors close.

  Despite my best attempts to breathe normally, I’m still seeing black spots when I reach Stephen’s door. I begin banging on the wood with both fists like a wild thing, aware that I’m dancing an uncomfortably close two-step with madness.

  Both my fists are lifted, about to strike the door again, when it opens. Caught off balance, I fall into the apartment. Though I can see Stephen is there, startled and looking as bone-tired as I feel blood-crazed, I don’t know if he’ll catch me. He’s told me about the effort it takes to become material. That knowledge is little help, as I can’t stop myself from falling now. I’d been flinging myself against his door with all the strength I had left.

  I close my eyes. Not wanting to see the floor when I hit it. I can take the bruised elbows and knees, but I can’t bear the idea of falling through him. I don’t want to see myself pass through like he isn’t standing in front of me. I need him to be there. To be real.

  He is.

  He catches me.

  And I can breathe again.

  But with my breath comes tears. Tears that have been trapped inside for months. Tears I’d convinced myself weren’t there.

  Now free, they flood my eyes. There are so many, for so long, I think I’ll probably drown in them.

  Stephen doesn’t say anything. He just holds on to me.