“Wow!” Xavier says. “Turner really outdid himself.”
“Turner?” Macey questions.
“Yeah, he’s an amazing artist. He designed the whole ballroom for Gabe. Said he wanted to impress some girl,” he snorts.
I can’t help it, I stop breathing, knowing that girl is me. As hard as I try to kick Turner out of my head, he keeps fighting his way back in.
“Look, there he is.” Xavier points.
I follow his finger. Perpetua wraps herself around Turner’s body and kisses his neck. He doesn’t seem responsive, but still, he’s doing what I told him to do, finding someone else. Why does it have to be her? I grit my teeth.
“Guess it worked.” Macey laughs. “Never knew those two were an item. He’s got awful taste. Did you know, Sera?” She looks over, completely clueless about my non-feelings for him.
“No.” I shake my head. My body temperature rises.
By the time we make it to the lower level, the music has taken on a club vibe. Students migrate to the floor, swaying and spinning to some kind of modern techno mixed with a carnival waltz. Bishop immediately sweeps me onto the dance floor. The moves are easy to pick up and, in no time, we’ve learned the choreographed steps.
He spins me in between the clowns and stilt-walkers. But I can’t enjoy myself with Perpetua hanging on Turner in my peripheral vision. I grab Bishop’s hand and lead him to a hot air balloon.
A gypsy approaches. Wiry salt-and-pepper hair peeks out from under an eggplant-colored hooded cape. Many reflective necklaces dangle from her neck. Hypnotically, they clank and chime when she moves. Once upon a time, she was probably very beautiful. She stops and points with her knobby finger.
“Are you prepared to see your future, young one?”
“My future?”
“The balloon.” She looks up at its decorative exterior, draped with roped nets and tassels. “To ride in it, to see above the walls of the ballroom, will reveal your future like a crystal ball.”
“Sounds like fun,” I muse. These are only circus games, holograms thrown together by Gabe and Turner.
“You are a brave one,” she says, waddling aside to pull open the basket gate. Two students step out and Bishop and I step in. The gypsy closes the gate, then ambles around the basket and unties a gold cord tethered to it, releasing the balloon. It ascends, launching into the air. The basket’s edges are high, at chest level, so Bishop and I lean over to look over at the party below.
“I should be scared of the height, but for some reason I’m not. Maybe it’s because my mind knows it’s a hologram.”
“Maybe, but still, you shouldn’t be afraid. I’ve never understood your fear of heights. Perhaps you’re finally getting over it?”
“I wish!” I laugh at the thought, but for once, I’m thrilled to be leaving the nerves behind, even for a fake hot air balloon ride. “Look, we’re rising higher than the roofline.” I point.
“What do you think you’ll see?” Bishop questions. “It’s a peek into your future. Maybe our future?” He lifts one eyebrow and places his hand on mine.
Bishop reaches above us and activates the burner. The burner’s flame roars, creating hot air that rises into the balloon, and we float higher. “Let’s see how far we can go. Maybe to heaven?” He flashes his dimple.
“Maybe,” I tease.
The balloon ascends beyond the roofline of the Academy. I’m amazed by what’s revealed below. It’s not the bustling city of Chicago as I expected.
•
The skyline of a quiet desert surrounds us. Stars reach across the convex sky, their light softly touching the undulating, sand-covered land below. The moon reflects upon a shimmering river that cuts the earth in half. Structures, Egyptian in style, sit beyond. Fireflies dance at a golden obelisk’s base. If we floated toward it, I could reach out and touch the apex.
“How is this possible?” I turn to Bishop. “How can my future be the desert? And I’ve dreamed of this before, long ago—the night Aunt Mona told me I’m a Wanderer.” I gesture toward the sky, thinking back to the dream about fireflies in the desert.
“It’s beautiful, whatever it means.” His arms encircle my waist. “Any place in time is my favorite place to be with you. If this is your future, I want to be there with you.” He brushes his nose against my cheek. His warm breath radiates heat along my bare shoulder. And finally, his lips find mine. His kisses are sweet, controlled, and soft.
Gently, I push him away. “Bishop, there’s something I want to talk to you about. Totally not a big deal.” Ashamed, I look down, knowing it’s a complete lie. It’ll be a big deal to Bishop.
“Then let’s chat about it later,” he persuades, kissing me again.
::28::
The Gala
The balloon lands. We’ve flown above the party for at least half an hour, maybe more. I didn’t get a chance to talk with Bishop, but I haven’t broken my promise to myself. The evening isn’t over. Tonight, after the party, we will talk.
Lights flash above. Gabe appears at the top of a grand staircase, dressed in a costume, this one slightly more cabaret than the others. He wears red heels, black fishnets, and a tux with tails. A large black top hat with feathers, crinkled tulle, and a mound of flowers, stacks high on his head. Black kohl wraps his eyes like a raccoon, and his face is caked with white powder. As always, he’s stunning, no matter what form he takes. Still, this outfit, without sequins, is bland compared to his others. In his own way, he’s mourning the attack.
“Hello, my little carnies!” He steps down slowly, leaning on a red cane. “The festivities have begun. Let’s have some entertainment, shall we?” The lights snap off, save for one spotlight. The beam rotates to Gabe and then splits into several. Each new light lands on the hot air balloons above. At first, the balloons sizzle. Then, with a confetti explosion, the fabric peels back like the skin of an orange, revealing large silver hoops. Women—or men, in some cases I can’t tell—stand in them, dressed like Gabe, balancing on the ring.
Music fills the ballroom, dance and orchestra in a perfect blend. As each dramatic note hits, the acrobats standing in their silver hoops strike new poses. Finally, the music breaks into full chorus, and the group performs an aerial choreographed dance of acrobatics.
One performer does a handstand with legs stretched in splits long and wide. In another, two people twine themselves into an impossible position, one balancing on the other within their own spinning ring. Several acrobats flip and jump between other swinging circles like trapeze artists. There’s so much taking place, it’s hard to focus on just one.
At the culmination of the music, the troupe rolls over the side of their rings, flipping into the air and disappearing within several sparkling clouds of wander dust. The crowd cheers wildly, but Gabe’s not done yet. The show continues for at least another hour. Funny and scary clowns, mermaids swimming around ornate fish tanks, tattooed lizard men spitting fire, acrobats riding colorful horses, dancing tigers, there’s nothing this circus doesn’t have. Each act is more devastatingly shocking and beautiful than the last.
When it stops, I can barely catch my breath. Students clap and scream and whistle for more, but the show is apparently over. Eventually the DJ returns to spinning music, and students return to dancing. A large buffet has been set out in a nearby room.
“Would you like some food?” Bishop asks after another dance. “I’m starving.”
“Sounds good.”
Bishop makes his way through the crowd, disappearing from view. Now, I finally have a moment to do what I’ve wanted to do this whole night. I scan the crowd. When I find Turner alone I march to him, where he’s pouring punch for himself. Perpetua chats with a group of friends across the room.
I stand next to him, practically boiling out of my skin. With quick movements, I grab a cup, swipe the ladle from his grasp, and pour a drink for myself. I take a quick swig, casting my disapproving eyes from behind the rim, and then I slam the glass on the table. My opinion ca
n’t be held in any longer.
“I can’t believe you brought her with you!”
“Are you suggesting you have a problem with my date?” He smiles, acting innocent.
“She’s a horrid, back-stabbing witch!”
He shoves an arm under mine and hisses, “Aren’t you the one who told me to move on, Seraphina? What was it you said exactly? ‘Find someone new,’ I think it was.” He drags me out a set of ornate doors and onto a veranda that overlooks a holographic city. Turner kicks the doors closed behind us. The party and music disappear, leaving us in silence.
“Uh!” I grunt and stomp away, but he latches onto my arm.
“No! We’re having this out now! You aren’t going anywhere!” He swings me back to face him. “Why don’t you ask yourself why you’re so jealous of her?”
“Jealous! I am not!” I scream. “You’re out of your delusional mind!” I pull away.
But he isn’t done with me. He pulls me back again. My body lands with my chest against his. Before I can react or even say another word, he crushes his lips into mine and kisses me. I struggle to get away, but he holds me there, letting his hungry fingers skim over my shoulders and down my back. His kisses are frantic, hot, and out of control. I lose my mind, because suddenly, I kiss him back.
All the tension that has built up between us explodes into fireworks. They sizzle through my veins, shooting throughout my body. The kiss, heated with passion, is the consequence of the raw and careless emotional disturbance that’s been building for months. His scorching lips work mine over. I reach into his dark hair and twine my fingers into its roots, pulling him closer, gasping for more.
Turner kisses the line of my collarbone and bare shoulders. In the frenzy, he lifts me from the floor and staggers backward. I land seated on a ledge and lock my legs around his hips. Then I grab his collar, jerk him closer, and vanish into absolute delirium. There’s passion—so much more intense passion than I’ve ever felt before.
“Sera!” The veranda doors fly open.
We pull away from each other. Turner’s wistful eyes lock with mine. I drag my wrist across my wet lips, breathing heavily. I want to jump back into his arms and devour him when he steps away.
Sam rushes forward. Her beautiful taffeta gown sweeps behind her. She slaps Turner in the face and grabs my arm, quickly dragging me away. I only look back over my shoulder, staring at his silvery eyes. I want to return and allow his kisses to consume me. A ghost of a smirk reaches his lips as though he can read my mind. Then he’s gone from my view.
Inside, Sam drags me through the people dancing, holographic animals, jugglers, and finally out a door on the opposite side of the grand ballroom. She shoves me into the ladies room, drags me to a circular sofa, and pushes me down on the seat.
“Sit!” she commands, but she doesn’t have to. Lost in this abyss of complete and utter shock, I would have let her guide me anywhere. My stunned mind buzzes as I stare off into space. A single finger lingers at my lips, brushing the exact spot where I just allowed Turner to kiss me in a way I never dreamed imaginable.
A set of fingers snaps in front of my eyes, awakening me. Sam paces back and forth, biting her nails. She never bites her nails.
Awareness drenches me. “Don’t tell Bishop!” I plead. “Don’t let him see into your mind or show him what you saw!” The words tumble from my lips at a hurried, frantic pace. “Please!” I jump up and grab her arm, imploring with desperate eyes as my fingers dig into her skin.
Fear surges through me when she doesn’t answer. “I don’t know what happened. He just—kissed me, and I fought, but then I didn’t.” I stare off again, considering the awful consequences of my actions. Overwhelmed, I fall to the floor. My gown puddles around me. I lean into the billowing fabric and cry.
Sam bends down, bringing her eyes level with mine. Her mouth turns down at the corners. “Sera,” she says gently, her eyes brimming with tears. “Bishop’s already seen.”
::29::
One Kiss
Heartbreak. I actually hear my heart break. It shakes and crushes into a thousand little pieces that seep out of my body. They float away into the air, extinguishing into nothing. I feel nothing; I am nothing.
Sam wraps her arm around my back, helping me to stand. She enlists someone else to help. I hear the exchange, but it doesn’t completely register. I don’t even bother to see who it is, or care to recognize the voice. I want to disappear into my sadness, allow my body to fold up into nothing. Bishop knows. He saw me kiss Turner through Sam’s mind. What have I done?
•
When I begin to come to my senses, I realize we’re on the catwalk of the ballroom, sitting on a bench, looking down at the gala. People are twirling and dancing to music I don’t hear.
“Sera, can you hear me?” A sad voice breaks through.
I tilt my head listlessly; my eyes land on Sam.
“Pay attention if you can,” she says. “I have a lot to tell you, and I’m sorry it has to be now.”
My brows furrow. There’s not much life in me.
“Look around, do you see everyone dancing down there?” Sam asks and gestures toward the crowd. I sluggishly turn my head in the direction of the fun. “Do you see Macey, Quinn, and Xavier?”
I nod.
“Now, do you see Jessica and Stu? Or Agnes and Atticus? Do you notice anything they have in common?”
“No,” I whimper.
“They’re dating…they’re in love.”
“So?”
“Think about it. They’re all in teams. Remember the connection we had when we first met? For me, I knew you were my family, and I’d never even met you before. In my heart, I knew you belonged to me,” Sam explains.
“Yes, I remember the feeling,” I mumble.
“Now think of Bishop. The first time you saw him, how you felt—that attraction, an unreasonable attraction beyond teenage hormones. You wanted him even though you had no idea who he was.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, Sera, that it doesn’t matter that you kissed Turner. Bishop will forgive you. He doesn’t have a choice. He has to love you.”
“What?” I sit up a little.
“I’m saying, we as a team of Wanderers, Seers, and Protectors are genetically predisposed to love one another. We are our own best matches, soul mates.”
“You’re saying I don’t have a choice who I love?”
“Well, actually, you have a choice. Unlike others, you have a very unique choice—one that was never given to you. You had a choice to love one of two people, a choice most of us don’t get. And the choice was stolen from you.”
“Sam, you’re not making any sense.”
“You have two Protectors, Sera. Or you did before you came to the Academy.”
It clicks immediately. Turner doesn’t have a team. “I suppose you could say it just didn’t work out,” he said when I asked him about them. I assumed that meant they didn’t take the oaths and decided to live as Normals.
“How?”
“Twins, Sera. Both meant for you. Only one can have your love. Only one can be our Protector.”
“Who—who decided for me?”
She clears her throat. “I promised I would never tell, but I can’t stand to see you like this. It’s not fair, and you deserve to know.” She grabs my hand and tightens her fingers around mine. “The moment Bishop saved you from the gang in the metro last year, the moment you talked to him in the Academy courtyard, it was decided for you. Bishop kinda—cheated.”
“Cheated?”
“He and Turner were told to wait, not to reveal themselves to you. Terease was to administer some kind of test to see who you gravitated toward. The one you chose would have been our Protector, the one you would love forever. And I’m starting to think, it may not have been Bishop.” She frowns.
“What about you, how come you didn’t choose?”
“I was too young at the time. I didn’t connect with either in that rom
antic way. I only saw them as my brothers, equally suited for the job, and I still do, because they’re both in love with you. My match will be made with an odd member of another team.”
I let it sink in, remembering every instance Bishop popped up when I moved to Chicago, every strange emotion I felt when I was compelled to be near him, stare at him, talk to him. I never thought I didn’t have a choice. Why didn’t I question how irrational everything was?
“He sent me his photograph,” I say.
“What?”
“Before I moved here, when my wandering abilities started appearing in Miami, I received an envelope. It had Bishop’s photo in it. It must have been him, trying to seal his own fate.” I glance at her.
Sam’s expression reflects her horror. “I—I can’t believe it.” She frowns with obvious disappointment.
“Me neither.” I’m sad. I’m mad. I’m confused. If I were feeling more like myself, I’d want to lash out, make someone pay. Not for taking away my choice between two boys, but for taking away my choice, period. I was delusional to think that my relationship with Bishop was pure, untouched by the laws of Wandering. Nothing seems immune.
“There’s more.” She clears her throat.
“Please, no. This is bad enough.” I sink back and hug my stomach, holding myself together. I might split apart at the seams if I let go.
“We have to leave for me to explain. You’ll have to see it for yourself.”
::30::
An Arrangement
Sam and I leave the gala. She drags me through the empty corridors to our apartment. I’m apprehensive. “Is Bishop here?” I’m not ready to see him. I don’t even know what I’ll say to him, how to feel.
“No, don’t worry.”
She walks into my bedroom and heads for the closet. She pulls out the first outfit she sees—the one hanging on the door—and throws it at me. “You’ll need to change. You’re going to wander.”
“In this?” I look at the outfit, the one I saw myself wearing in London that day, weeks ago.
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