“You’re taking her?” Harper’s mouth gapes as she blocks the doorway. “You don’t let anyone see what’s up there.”
Devon ignores Harper and brushes past her. She looks downright dejected. If I wasn’t so laced with worry, I’d probably gloat.
As Devon goes up the narrow cellar stairs and makes his way back to the café, a thought hits me. He wanted me to test out all the Bents. What if he wants me to meet his grandfather, the Seer? As far as I know, I haven’t tested as a Caretaker, Healer, or Seer.
I hold my throbbing jaw and jog up the steps after Devon. The warm, vanilla-scented air thaws my fingers. “Does your grandfather live here? He’s not around, is he?”
“Pop?” Devon sounds surprised. “No, he’s not here. We have an apartment a couple blocks away. Why?”
I relax a little. But now I’m not sure how to answer without sounding suspicious. “You wanted me to check out all Bents. Gladys told me he was a Seer.”
Devon doesn’t slow his pace. “You’ll meet him later. If you’re a Seer, he’ll know.”
I focus on acting nonchalant. “How so?”
Devon stops at the grand staircase and places one hand on the thick wooden banister. He turns and waits for me to catch up. “Not only would you have had a vision by now, but you’d have a distinct ability to read messages embedded in artwork.”
Like seeing Jess dying on the road in my mom’s drawing? Or the number five embedded in Maddox’s sketch? I bite my lip. He makes no mention of my connection with Milton, and I’m glad. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
Devon jogs up the wooden staircase that leads to the second-floor dance studio and sleeping quarters. I’m not sure where we’re headed, but I search for a way out. “Hey, Devon? I’m thinking maybe I should go find Gladys. She was gonna call my mom.”
“Gladys isn’t here.”
“Oh.” Strike one.
When we reach the top of the steps, Devon shoots me a questioning glance. “You all right?”
“Me? Oh . . . I just don’t know how my mom will take the news of me being here.”
“Gladys will work things out. Don’t you worry.”
Instead of taking the hall that leads to the girls’ room, Devon follows the balcony rail to the left. Floorboards creak as we pass a room that smells of heated metal and aged paper. I peer into it as we pass. Looks like a semi-library, except someone’s left a metal engraving plate with shavings and dentist-looking tools on a square table. Other than that, the book-filled room has a few black-and-white prints.
Devon stops in front of a metal door at the very end of the hall.
The rusty hinges screech as he opens it. A gust of icy air swooshes and swirls around me. I take a deep breath, checking for the smell of sulfur, but all I get is a whiff of Devon’s earthy scent. “Want me to stay here and hold the door open?” I ask, in case the door locks automatically.
“No.” Devon holds the door and waits for me to step onto a rusted fire escape platform. Strike two.
Another thought hits me. Since I failed as a Blade, he’s probably testing my Bent as a Caretaker. Little does he know I’m trying to “take care” of everyone by not going outside, but I can’t tell that to Devon. I shiver.
“Is there a problem?” Devon’s probing glance tells me he knows something’s up. He’s frustrated that I’m stalling.
“I’m a little shell-shocked from yesterday, I guess. And I could use a jacket.”
“We won’t be outside for long.” Devon puts a thin wood block in the door jamb to keep it cracked open. He’s leaving the door cracked open? That’s a horrifically bad idea. I’ve seen Cormorants pop doors open like soda cans. Leaving one cracked ajar is an open invitation for an all-out invasion.
I search for a weapon. I’d even take a broom or mop if one was around. The crooked painting of an ocean sunset will hardly do the trick. “Do you at least have a weapon or something if one of those things comes around?”
Devon pulls out a small dagger with an ornate handle and vine pattern etched in the blade. The metal shines even though gray clouds blanket the sun.
Strike three. I take another deep breath. Fine. I’ll make this trip as quick as possible, but only because he’s got a weapon on him. I wrap my arms around my middle, step into the frigid air, and scan the sky and surrounding buildings. From what I can tell, the alley below looks clear of black mist, as do the rooftops. Good.
Without checking to see if I’m following, Devon goes up narrow metal steps that zigzag up the back of the building. Cold air creeps under my shirt and coils around the back of my neck as the door closes behind me, with only the fingertip space cracking the door open. We scale about three stories. I am alert for any buzzing or shrieking, but other than the train and a few cars in the distance, the late-morning sounds are uneventful.
Even though I’m determined to get this test over with as quickly as possible and get back inside, I have to admit I’m a little curious as to what Devon keeps so private. “Are we going to the roof?” Which would be a colossally bad idea for both of us.
“No.” Devon stops on a platform just shy of the roof and waits for me to catch up. A thick silver tarp tents the entire balcony and covers the side of the building like a construction zone.
My eyes widen at the size of this plastic cage. “What is that?”
As soon as Devon unzips an opening in the tarp, the hard lines on his face disappear. His eyes gleam. “Come take a look.”
Devon pushes the heavy vinyl covering aside. As soon as we step inside, I’m cocooned with warm air that smells of rosemary and fresh soil, not unlike Devon. All around me, vibrant green leaves from plants and herbs growing in handcrafted pots crowd every inch of space, save for the ceiling, where tiny heat lamps line the enclosure.
Devon zips the tarp closed, trapping in the humid air. Small wooden shelves are packed with overflowing plants. He makes his way through them to the far end of what has to be a thirty-foot balcony.
“This garden is amazing.” I push aside a thick vine of plump tomatoes growing overhead and step further into the tropical haven. “It’s like being in another universe.”
Devon smiles and inspects a cluster of potted herbs. He gently holds the fragile foliage in his palm and brushes his fingers over the leaves. “It helps Harper and the other Healers with what they need.” He inhales the scent lingering on his fingers. “And it isn’t so bad for the cooking either.” He picks up a pair of pruning shears.
“It’s not a bad place for hiding.” Something brushes against my arm. I glance down. It’s a crooked lima bean stalk, wandering away from a healthy, upright cluster, the same way they did in Jess’s plastic terrarium. The sight pierces my heart. Jess couldn’t wrangle in her wayward vine either. I redirect the vine, carefully entwining it with another.
Sadness taints Devon’s voice as he replies, “I’ve got no need to hide.” His large hands gently prune dead leaves off a pink flowering rose bush before checking the soil. I wander the aisle, then stop in the middle of the garden oasis and watch Devon tend his garden in silence. His posture is a soliloquy of strength, defeat, and . . . grief.
“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?” My question comes out a little blunter than I intended.
I’m not sure what reaction I was expecting from Devon, but he doesn’t give one. Instead, he calmly mixes plant food in a blue watering can. “There’s no point.”
“How can you say that? It’s so clear how you feel about her, whether you think so or not. You’re not hiding anything.”
“It’s not clear to her.” He waters the pink roses before tending to neighboring plants. “It’s obvious she’s focused on someone else.”
“That’s only because he pays attention to her. Maybe if you tried giving her attention, complimenting her instead of ordering her around, she might open her eyes to what’s in front of her.”
He ignores me. “She needs mint.” When he cuts off a leafy branch, the tiny space fills with the smell of pep
permint.
He may want to drop the topic, but I can’t let it go. Despite the pain in my jaw, I push on. “Just talk to her. See her strengths and tell her. If you wait too long you may never get the chance.”
Devon shakes his head. “It’s good to see you’re only a few days in and you’re already caring for everyone around you.”
The walls flap as a strong wind kicks against the tarp. I listen for any telltale sound. So far, I only hear an airplane’s roaring engine and a barking dog in the distance.
“So does that mean I passed your test and we can get back now?”
“Test?” Devon looks at me, confused.
“You brought me here to test me as a Caretaker, right? You’ll listen to what I say, ask a few questions. Maybe even want me to pick some special herb, and depending on which one I choose, it will somehow reveal my Bent as a Caretaker. The same way Gladys did when I handed her pieces for the mosaic . . . or maybe it was the rolling out the dough. I don’t know, but somehow she knew.” I wander about, searching the stacked shelves for a plant that seems different, or in need of help, or smells a certain way . . .
Devon watches me with bewilderment as I touch velvety leaves. “I’m not testing you.”
I glance up and search his face. He’s perplexed, but his eyes are honest. He’s really not testing me? My face warms. “Oh.” I release the plant. “Then why did you ask me to come up here?”
“I thought after yesterday . . . I know coming back after what happened on the street was rough. Sometimes it’s hard being around people all the time. I thought you’d appreciate a moment to get away. Talk things through. That’s all. And you looked to be in a bit of trouble with Tanji. Thought it best to break that down.”
He’s so lying. Okay, so maybe not the part about Tanji, but the way he watches Harper interact with Maddox, coupled with all the radical changes about to happen at Hesperian, I’m not the one who needed to get away. “I’ll pretend I believe that for now.” Maybe he’s the one who needs to talk things through. I lean against the wooden table that occupies the middle of the tent. “Are you just as thrilled about Council taking over as everyone else, seeing how you run the place and now they’re bringing someone else in?”
Devon’s tone stiffens. “Are you always this straightforward?”
I shrug. “Yeah, kinda. Community is somewhat new for me. I don’t know the rules.”
I watch as Devon cuts small stalks from a purple plant and wraps the ends in a wet paper towel. When he does, the whole room fills with the fragrant scent of sweet licorice. “You’ve got this natural authority,” I say. “Seems to me, if Council was smart, they’d use your strength to their advantage.”
“Council believes I let too many things slide and have no control of what goes on around here.”
I laugh out loud. “You’re joking, right?”
Devon looks at me, straight-faced. “Tone it down. Lay low, I’m serious. When they get here, just do what they say.” He holds out the purple flower he wrapped in the cloth.
“I get it. They’re intense. I read that all over Kellan.” I take the cutting and bring the flower to my nose. “What is this?”
“How did you know Kellan is from Council? That’s not public knowledge.” He clips another cluster of herbs. The space now smells lemony. “And that’s hyssop. Be careful not to crush the stalk.”
I hold the hyssop more gently and examine the fuzzy purple petals arranged like a corncob on a stick. “He told me he’s here on assignment and made it clear he’s not happy about it. Said he doesn’t want to baby . . . sit.” Suddenly it all makes sense. “Is Kellan keeping tabs on you?”
Devon clips branches with hard, fast strokes. “I won’t say no, but . . .”
“But what?”
Devon points to the table beside me. “Hand me those scissors. Please.”
“Don’t change the subject on me.” Finding the scissors, I pick them up. “I’m good at keeping things ransom. It’s a talent of mine.” I clutch them against my chest. “Tell me.”
Devon’s lips tighten. “Council’s watching over someone else.”
“Gladys? I couldn’t imagine her doing anything Council—or anyone—wouldn’t agree with.”
“Not Gladys.” Devon holds his palm out for the scissors.
I tuck them behind my back. “Then who?”
He motions for me to hand them over. “We’ve got to get back. Harper’s waiting.”
The only other person I can think of is . . . “Wait. Do you mean Maddox? Why would Council keep tabs on him?”
Devon takes the scissors from my dangling hand. “Council wants him trained. Maddox refuses.”
Another breeze kicks at the side of the tarp. I step away from the table. Still no shrieking, but I can’t smell anything on account of the lemon and licorice scents permeating the space.
“Then why did you shut down our training just now?” I again search for a weapon in case of a sneak attack while we’re caged in the greenhouse. The pruning shears or scissors might work—at least they’re better than nothing.
“His brother, who’s on Council, wants all of Maddox’s training to go through him.”
“Brother. You mean . . .”
“Gray Carver.” Devon wraps the lemony herbs in strips of paper towel and hands them to me.
No wonder Maddox is planning to leave Hesperian. With Council taking over, he won’t have a choice but to train. My chest feels hollow. His taking off doesn’t seem so different from what Mom used to do. Maddox knows I don’t want to run anymore. I want to stand and fight, to change my visions when they happen. I trusted him with the deepest part of me—something I’ve never shared with anyone. Ever. Why didn’t he trust me enough to tell me the whole truth about why he wants to leave? Maybe he’s only using me—or using my Bent—as his excuse to get out.
Another heavy wind ruffles the tarp. “You’re right, we’d better get back.” Not only have I been out here way too long, I’m going to find Maddox and get the truth.
“Almost done.” I watch as Devon waters the rose bush. Why is he a monument of strength in so many areas—except for one?
“You’re going to have to be bold and take a risk with her instead of waiting for things to change. The worst thing—”
“I don’t want her pity.” Devon’s tone turns acidic. He sets down the watering can and brushes past me.
I follow after him, pushing away the outstretched vines grabbing my hair. “Why would she pity you? That makes no sense.”
He stops at the entrance. “So you don’t know.”
Sarcasm bleeds through my frustration. “Apparently not, seeing that I’ve only been here a few days. There’s a lot I still don’t know. Like why I couldn’t kill the beasts but Kellan could, or—”
“I lost my family, Cera.” Devon turns to face me. “Mom, Dad, and Althea, my little sister, in a car wreck. Only Pop and I survived.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I’m—”
“Sorry?” He turns to unzip the tarp. “That’s the response I’m talking about.”
“What are you wanting me to say? Too bad?”
“It’s not what anyone says. It’s the look in their eyes—first the look of shock, then the look that says how devastating, how awful. But no one wants the baggage. The story I have no control over pushes people away because I’m wounded, broken.” A deep, scarring pain lingers on his face. “I don’t want her looking at me like that if she doesn’t feel the way I do. And she deserves someone strong.” He pulls the tarp open.
“Aren’t we all wounded?” As I exit, the icy wind steals my breath. My teeth chatter as I wait for him to secure the greenhouse. “We all limp through life in one way or another. Just because someone sees your vulnerable side doesn’t mean you’re weak.” I hesitate as my own words slap me in the face.
“Let’s get these cuttings to Harper.”
I say nothing more. I am sorry he lost his family, but one thing I know is that loss can make us stronger. Y
ou think you can’t live through it, and yet, somehow you do. You’re broken and never the same but standing, nonetheless. In that moment, life changes, and suddenly the world seems tentative, a little more precious. I wish those words would come out as I follow Devon down the stairs, but instead, I keep them inside. That conversation is done.
The air whips around me as I navigate the narrow fire escape stairs as fast as possible. There still isn’t a sulfur stench or any buzzing sounds. Good.
We slip back inside and make our journey down the grand staircase, through the café, and down to Harper’s room. Or at least I thought. Devon stops sooner than I expect at a door opening into an anteroom next to Harper’s clinic. The room is lined with jar-filled shelves and has a thick table that takes up most of the space. The clutter resembles an ancient chemistry lab—complete with burners, beakers, and glass flasks bubbling with clear liquid—and smells just as acrid.
“You’re a lucky one,” Harper says as she adds a spoonful of a white cream into the bubbling liquid.
“Who, me?” I glance over my shoulder. Devon waits by the door, engrossed in checking his phone. She’s clearly not talking to him.
Harper takes the clippings from my hand and sets them on the table. She carefully unwraps the cloth and says, “That’s sacred space. Devon doesn’t let anyone up there. Ever.” She shoots Devon a playful glare as he glances up. Seriously Devon, come on. That’s an open invitation. Go for it. Devon drops his focus back to his phone, oblivious.
Disappointed, Harper pouts and turns her back to him. She mumbles, “What’d you do to get a peek?” Her words sound as disgusted as the look on her face.
As I tighten my jaw, the soreness flares. Forget trying to take the high road and forget helping Devon out. He’s too good for her. I force a smile. “I guess being authentic is hot.” I relish how Harper’s mouth gapes. She quickly shuts it and turns away in a huff.
“Let me know when the ointment is finished,” Devon says from the door.
Harper looks over her shoulder after Devon as he walks off. Her narrowed eyes turn to me with this “game on” expression written all over her face.
Mortal Sight Page 19