I can’t help it—I laugh out loud. “You have no idea what she looks like, do you?”
“Oh, I see plenty fine.” Pop scolds me with a shake of his boney finger.
Even though we’re tucked inside a covering, I can’t help but feel as if the creatures might be lurking around. I peer through the clear plastic but can’t make out anything except my own distorted reflection. I tuck my hands under my arms. “When you say, ‘boy,’ you mean Maddox? He smells like the ocean.”
“You only think so ’cause sight clouds your ability to see. It’s rain. Like after a storm.”
I’m not so sure he’s right about Maddox, but what does it matter? “Can you help him figure out the vision?” I move to Pop’s side. “I’ve got less than twenty-four hours to find out who’s going to die. If he can’t draw it out in time—”
“Now you listen up. Rushing into things without clarity will do more harm than good. Let the boy draw it right.” Pop runs his fingers over a smooth tangerine in his palm.
“I know it needs to be done right so I can read the details, but can’t you help speed things up?” A slight wind pushes against the covering. My ears perk. No shrieking Cormorants or buzzing sounds. Just a muffled car engine in the distance.
“Trust the boy. He’ll get it soon enough.” Pop digs his thumbnail into the tangerine. The whole space fills with a tangy orange scent.
“Is that your way of saying no?”
“Without strugglin’ outta the cocoon, the butterfly won’t ever fly.” He tears a small piece of the peel.
He makes absolutely no sense and is avoiding my question. “So you won’t help because I’m a Blight and somehow you’ll violate some code, or because you have some allegiance to an Alliance that doesn’t care if someone dies or not?” I throw my hands in the air. “Doesn’t life matter to anyone but me?”
Pop shakes his head as if I’ve said all the wrong things. He tosses a piece of rind into a nearby trashcan, missing. “Sometimes, what we want costs more than we’re willing to sacrifice.”
What kind of answer is that? “The second realm has blown up my life,” I inform him. “I don’t have much left to sacrifice. All I know is that I can’t let these massacres go on. I don’t know about you, but if I have any power to stop what’s happening, then I have to try.”
Pop sighs. He repositions his feet on the balcony rail and sits straighter. “Honey, we’ve been in a long-standing battle with Sage. The fight would be easier if he was simply a man, but Sage is a wandering spirit, an ageless shapeshifter from a realm that isn’t our own. He reigns over these beings, ruling in a realm only we can see, trying to gain complete control over our world.”
“Gladys told me about Sage and the war. If he destroys all of the Awakened, then he wins.” A cold chill prickles at the thought of the destruction of so many people. I nervously glance through the plastic again.
“He’s after more than bloodshed. Even if he killed everyone in the Alliance in every part of the world, he wouldn’t succeed. New bloodlines will sprout, and it would be an endless battle. But if he can eliminate the very thing that gives us our power and creates these new bloodlines . . . that’s when he wins. If that day were to come, then every bit of life as we know it—as the world knows it—will be wiped away, destroyed under his control.” Pop is quiet for a moment as if he sees the devastation playing out in his mind.
“Honey, we protect all the creative energy in the world—all advances and discoveries in every aspect of life. That same energy that flows creativity into the world feeds our powers. If that power is destroyed, all hope will die.” A somber shadow crosses his face. “This fight is more than just stoppin’ a few creatures, or savin’ a few lives. It’s about preserving the world’s way of life by fighting a battle the Commons don’t even know exists.”
The idea of war is beyond me. I shake my head, even though Pop can’t see, and pick up the rind off the floor, tossing it in the trash can. “All I want is to change what happens in my visions so they won’t come to pass. To save each life, one at a time. I don’t want to get involved in a war.”
Pop purses his lips and rips the fruit into two halves. “War’s in sight. We can’t sit on the sidelines or be runnin’ away any longer.” He holds up a tiny wedge of tangerine, offering me a slice.
“No, thank you.” Even though the air is warm, I shiver. “The fight is between the Alliance and Sage. According to you, I’m a free agent that doesn’t belong to either side.”
Pop grunts. “Honey, you belong to both sides, which gives you more power than you realize.”
“Don’t tell me I’ve got special powers because I’m some prophetic chosen one—”
“Ain’t no such thing as a chosen one.” Pop frowns. “But you can choose to be the one to make a change. It don’t matter what you are, Blight, Awakened, Dissenter . . . even a Common, just don’t go at it alone.”
I rebel at the thought of more people involved in this nightmare world. “I don’t want to change the world. I never did. Before I knew about the second realm, I only wanted to find out why I was having panic attacks and stop them so I could have a normal life. Now all I want is to keep what appears in my visions from coming true.” My frustration grows. “What good am I if I can’t save one life?”
“You’ve got what you need. Power from both sides—a thin line separatin’ shadow from light. Just a matter of which one you gonna choose. Which one gets control.”
“I choose to destroy the creatures and save lives.”
Pop rests the half-eaten tangerine in his lap. “Focusin’ too much on destroying might wake you to the wrong side of love.”
What does that mean? Frankly, I’m getting irritated at his cryptic words that are far from helpful. “How can saving a life be wrong?”
“Stop gettin’ all hotheaded. That ain’t what I said. You only hear a small part of truth before feelings take control. If you don’t like the answer, you stop listenin’ and don’t hear what you need.”
“What I need is to know who is going to die and how to stop it—or even what sort of power Blights have—”
“The war starts in here.” Pop taps at his temple. “Feelings blur the lines.”
Why won’t he answer me directly? He’s maddening and clearly not going to help me out. “I’m going to see if Maddox is almost done.” I head to the door.
Before I move further, Pop says, “Honey, those creatures? They might very well be on your side.”
What? A disturbing rawness gnaws at me. “Those creatures are the enemy. I’m not.”
I go into the apartment, much more confused than when I went out. Pop practically said I align with the enemy, wasn’t willing to help, and made no sense at all, talking about cocoons and butterflies, and how there’s more important things than saving a life.
Seriously, what’s wrong with everyone around here? At least Maddox is willing to help. He’s sitting at the counter . . . ripping up the sketches?
“What are you doing?” I run over and frantically collect the pieces from the floor.
“I think I’ve figured it out.” He spins around to face me. “I couldn’t draw it as one image, so I drew it in parts.” He moves the paper shreds into various positions. “Maybe you can make something out if we put it together, like a puzzle. Or a mosaic.” His eyes are loaded with meaning. In that moment, the Current sparks harder than ever before, catching me off guard with an intense jolt. We both quickly look away and focus on the scraps of paper.
“Let’s try.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, focusing on anything except how hot my face feels at the moment, or how turbulent Maddox’s bright blue eyes are.
I outline the border with white scraps. Maddox’s shoulder leans against mine as we move the pieces, spreading them all over the counter in silence, mapping out a broken picture. From the torn pages, images start forming.
Goosebumps rise on my skin. Maddox is brilliant. His idea might just work.
After arranging and rearranging
shreds of paper for who knows how long, the only clear items are a lantern, a cup, and a puddle. My eyes burn from staring at the pieces. Even though the clock still reads close to midnight, it has to be at least three in the morning. Devon isn’t back.
“Can you pull more detail on the wine glass?” I stifle a yawn. “The goblet, or cup, or whatever—it was broken. Not shattered, but cut off somehow.”
Maddox rubs his fingers over his tired face. “I think I’ve got the whole scene in my head. Give me a few minutes. I’ll try to get that.”
I won’t hover. My weary legs won’t let me pace the living room any longer, so I sit on the couch and close my eyes. I picture the goblet, imagining Maddox next to me, hoping he can pull out the details the way Mom somehow could.
Something scratchy rubs against my cheek. Fabric. It smells of lemon and secondhand furniture. My heart pounds as I thrust myself up on my elbows. Soft light radiates from a single light in the kitchen and pushes out the darkness in the living room. I fell asleep? No! How much time have I lost? It’s dark out, the broken clock still reading just before midnight.
Pop is nowhere around, but Devon made it back. Across the cramped living room, he’s asleep, snoring in the recliner. At the counter, Maddox rests his head on his arms. Also asleep.
I push off the couch, tripping over a blanket. I shake Maddox awake. “Where’s the sketch?”
Maddox groans and lifts his head. “Hmm . . .”
“Did you finish? Let me see.” I tug at a paper, sliding it out from under his arms as he wakes. Pieces of the torn-up sketches fall to the floor.
Maddox sits up, rubbing out his eyes. “After we laid things out and you went to take a nap, details came to me out of nowhere.”
I wasn’t just going off to take a nap. I was trying to picture the images in my head, hoping he could see them. I just happened to fall asleep. But none of that matters now. We might be out of time.
I place the sketch on the counter where there’s more light and focus on the image. One look at his artwork and I forget to breathe. My vision, just like Mom’s renderings but sketched with ten times her talent, sits right in front of me. The detailed scene looks more like a black-and-white photograph than a pencil sketch.
As my eyes fly over the page, I trace the curvy waves of the cup’s stem. The goblet looks new, but fragile. The hourglass stem has been knocked over and looks like a girl diving down with her arms above her head, although her feet and arms are bound. The top is severed, cut off from the cup and half shattered on the ground. The tiny pieces of the broken basin flow on the ground like strands of . . . hair? Curly or long?
“Do you see something?” Maddox whispers. I shut him out and concentrate harder.
Liquid pours out from under the broken pieces and . . . trampled flower petals. Blood? No. In my vision the liquid was deep violet, not red. The shaded lines that hover over the liquid look like disfigured hands reaching through the fog, smearing their greedy fingers through the fluid like they’re applying war paint . . . or maybe something like a tonic as if it could bring them life. Heal them somehow . . .
Then it hits me. “Oh no.” I lean against the counter because my knees feel like they might buckle any minute.
Maddox stands up. “What do you see?”
Devon wakes, springing out of the recliner. “What’s wrong?”
I stare at the curvy stem. “The liquid in my vision was purple like the serum. Serum. It’s about healing.” My shaky finger points to the drawing. “These hands in the black mist . . . they’re the sallow men—the Legions. They’re going to kill a Healer. There’s a flower . . .” My mind races, recalling the yellow flower in Juniper’s hair. “They tried to get Juniper once before . . .”
Before I know it, I bolt toward the front door.
“Whoa, hold on.” Devon comes after me and takes hold of my arm. “I would have gotten a call if someone spotted more Legions.”
I pull away. “Would they know to call if they saw black mist?” I ran out unprepared when I searched for Jess, and I failed. I won’t make that mistake again. I need a knife. I dart to the kitchen and search the drawers.
Devon flips on a switch, filling the room with bright, assaulting light. He guards the front door, looking puzzled. “Black mist?”
That’s right. He wasn’t on the streets when I detected the Legion before anyone else did. Perhaps that’s a unique Blight trait. “It’s how Legions travel. They creep around in a black fog. Then, whenever they want, they form into Legions.” I look out the patio. There’s no sign of sunrise. “I don’t know how much time is left before the vision comes true. I didn’t get to Jess in time. I can’t let that happen again.”
“Before we do anything,” Devon reminds me, “Pop needs to agree with your reading. That was the deal.”
“We don’t have time!” Opening a drawer, I pick out the sharpest knife I can find.
“Put that down,” Devon demands as he pulls his own hunting knife out of his pocket. Holding the sparkling blade steady, Devon's eyes harden.
“Call Harper.” Maddox comes between Devon, with his knife, and me. “Have her keep everyone at Hesperian inside—especially Juniper.”
Harper. My gut twists at the sound of her name. “I’m wrong,” I whisper. I set the knife on the counter and reach over to grab the sketch for a second look. At my sudden movement, Devon starts for me, but Maddox holds him back.
I focus on the drawing. The sleek stem has perfect curves. Closing my eyes, I picture the broken glass. The strands of hair in my mind were . . . blonde. “It’s Harper.” Her name punches me harder than Tanji’s fist to my face. I know I’m right. “Harper’s the one in danger.”
Panic flashes through Maddox’s eyes as he looks at Devon. “Call her. Make sure she’s all right.”
Devon is already pulling up the number. But his built-in lie detector runs high as he looks at me while placing the phone to his ear. “Maddox, wake Pop.”
He thinks I’m lying? “The sleek stem.” I point out. “Right here, the curves. The strands of hair. Blonde hair. And the flowers . . . petals. She’ll be on the street buying flowers, or herbs, or . . .” The way the soft light falls on the glass. “It happens sometime after dawn.” It’s still dark outside. I shake the paper at them. “I’m telling you, it’s Harper. I know it is.”
“She’s not answering.” Devon hangs up. Fear darkens his eyes as he glances at the sketch in my hand. “How many Legions? Is that detail clear?”
I smooth the paper. The puddle of Legions. Greedy hands stretching out, smearing balm on their arms. One. Two. “Maybe three.” Possibly four.
Devon tenses as he dials another number. “We can’t handle three.” He turns his back, putting the phone to his ear.
Maddox steps in front of him. “If you call Council, you’ll only give Cera away. They’ll question how you know Harper’s in trouble. You’ll be in violation of code. And Council won’t do anything to save Harper. They won’t intervene on a vision, and you know it.”
“But three Legions . . .” Devon slowly drops the phone to his side. “We don’t have the gear to fight and stay protected.”
Maddox runs a hand through his hair, exposing the jagged red scar along his jaw. “With my Bent, I’ll know how to protect Harper. Let me use your blade in case I have to fight. I’ll get her back. Safe.”
“You can’t see the Legions in mist form. I can,” I remind him as I grab the knife off the kitchen counter. “The deal was I go alone. I can’t let anyone else get injured. It will happen around dawn. It’s still dark. I’ve got time. I’ll find Harper and bring her back before the Legions find her. No one has to get hurt.”
“You can’t chase after them.” Now Maddox is the one blocking the front door. “If Sage can use you to ruin us, don’t you think those Legions will do anything to get to you? Maybe they’ll kill you to siphon your power, or maybe they’ll alert Sage to where you are and he’ll come after you. I don’t know. But right now, we’ve still got time to
keep you hidden. Get you trained to fight.”
“I’m done hiding. I’m stopping this vision from coming true, Maddox. I have to. I can’t let her—or anyone—die on account of what I see. And time is running out.”
“Maddox is right,” Devon says. “If you go out there . . .”
“That was our deal. You let me try. If I make it back, turn me in. If I don’t, then—”
“Harper will die.” Devon’s conflicted expression is filled with despair.
“I won’t let that happen,” I tell him. “But standing around arguing is a waste of time. If you’re not going to make a move, I will.”
“Single-minded arrows, all aiming separately at the same target, will only knock one another out.” Pop’s shadow, cane in hand, appears at the doorway. “Goin’ at it alone ain’t gonna hit the mark. Aim together.”
“Pop’s right.” Maddox turns to me. “You won’t survive three Legions on your own, and neither will Harper. And kitchen knives—regular knives—for that matter, won’t work against them.”
I frown.
When Devon holds out his hand, the vine-etched blade glistens. “Only a particular kind of knife will work. Antique metal. Limited supply, called Paradise Steel. Named for the Gates of Paradise, the metal panels carved by the Renaissance sculptor, Ghiberti.”
“Council doles them out,” Maddox says, then frowns. “But only Caretakers and Blades are allowed to use them.”
No wonder Kellan was able to kill the creatures when I couldn’t. He had a similar vine-etched blade.
Devon holds the knife in his hand, as though checking the weight. “Except for now. Take this.” He hands the knife to Maddox, who looks at Devon, incredulous. “I’ve got my mom’s as a backup.”
Maddox curls his hand around the hilt as his eyes soak up the metal sparkling in the light. “You’re violating code? It’ll cost you—”
“It’s Harper.” Devon’s tone is as rigid as his body. “We don’t have the right gear to keep Cera safe on the street, and without a third blade, she’ll have to stay,” he says, dialing another number.
Mortal Sight Page 24