“Excellent point. We were just leaving. It’s been such a pleasure seeing you, Tess.” He spat the words as though the taste of them was wretched.
As the Lasalles pulled her through the vestibule, Alex peeked back over her shoulder at the icy girl. The aggression of the conversation didn’t seem to faze Tess.
“She was charming,” Alex said sarcastically.
Kaleb made a face. “Tess-the-Pest thinks she can say and do whatever she wants.”
Jonas seethed. “Did you hear the scorn in her voice when she called us first-generation spirits? I hate that girl.”
“Why did she ask about my family?”
“Get used to it. Everyone asks about it when newburies arrive.”
“She was trying to see if she should invite you into her little cult,” Gabe explained.
“Huh?”
“Legacy kids. They think they’re superior because they have ancestors here.”
“They do get special treatment.” Kaleb led the group to a narrow opening in the far corner of the room where a wavy ramp spiraled around a black pillar like an Archimedes’ screw.
Alex kept a hand on the pillar to support herself while she followed the boys around and around. At each floor, the darkness broke to reveal beautiful stone balconies with chairs and tables overlooking the vestibule. At the seventh floor, the boys stopped.
“It’s interesting that she’s on this level, right?” Jonas asked his brothers, giving Alex a little shove off the ramp. “I guess after what she did to the bench, it shouldn’t be such a surprise.”
Alex shifted unsteadily on her feet. “You know I hate it when people speak about me like I’m not here.”
“The seventh floor newburies tend to be advanced,” Kaleb said.
“Is that a coincidence?”
“There aren’t many coincidences around here. You blew up a bench earlier, so they must have gotten your room assignment right.”
“You might have family here,” Gabe said.
“I don’t think so.” Not anymore, at least.
“You’d be surprised. The longer the lineage, the stronger the spirit. The other day I read about the evolution of—”
“Come on!” Kaleb interrupted. “If you start spouting off, we’ll be standing here all night.” He offered Alex an encouraging nod. “Good luck!”
She hadn’t thought about what would happen next. She didn’t know where she was supposed to go or what she was supposed to do. Taking a tentative step forward, she poked her head around the corner to find a seemingly never-ending corridor. “What now?”
Jonas attempted to take a step out onto the landing, but Kaleb yanked him back. Jonas scowled. “Figure it out,” he snapped, turning back to the ramps. They disappeared, and his voice called down, “We did!”
For the first time since she died, she was alone. And she didn’t like it.
Taking a deep breath, she crept gingerly down the hallway, hoping a door might somehow have her name on it, and noticed something peculiar.
There were no doors.
The hallway contained window and picture frames of varying sizes but with mirrors behind them. Alex couldn’t see her own reflection, just the image of the decor behind her. Each frame displayed a caption underneath. The circular one closest to her read Sonja F. Rellingsworth, Founder of the Modern Periodic Table. The rectangular frame next to it was labeled Kender Federive, Service General. Alex continued down the hall, her eyes drifting over the captions, panes, and mirrors. She stopped beside the large crisscrossed window of Kinza Adel, Eidolon Ambassador from 1843–1986, and she heard the squeak of hinges.
A piece of the wall swung open like a door. Cautiously, Alex crossed the threshold, and the door clicked shut behind her.
There was no question this room was hers, because it was exactly what she would have wanted. It was a scene she’d seen once in a catalog advertising high-end home goods. The welcoming room smelled of fresh linens and lilacs. French doors grinned at her from the far corner, with tables on either side piled high with worn books, though not nearly as many as those that inhabited the built-in bookshelves. Everything was beautifully aged, yet somehow brand new.
A bizarre ending to a bizarre day, she thought, falling into a great brute of a bed. Like the thick tufts of clouds in a child’s drawing, the layers of blankets cradled her form. Fatigue overcame her as she rearranged herself horizontally, supporting her back against the wooden backboard. It was comforting to have something secure behind her. Security that the world was not going to disappear as she slept. Security that she would not disappear.
She slept like the dead.
Alex’s sleep was not dreamless, but it was like television snow. All power and no programming. That is, until the very last seconds between asleep and awake.
When her mind opened itself, she realized she was lying on her stiff rock of a mattress at the Eskers Psychological Rehabilitation Center, a candy-coated term for “mental institution.” Bullets of fierce raindrops disturbed the darkness, pelting the skylight, her only connection to the outside world. Her mind felt drug-distorted, similarly to when she’d been a resident there, and muffled whispers curled around her from every direction. Through her hazy eyes, she could see movement on the walls. It was like staring at the sun and then closing her eyes to see the shadow that had temporarily imprinted itself in her mind.
Alex. His voice was a vigilant whisper, afraid of startling her.
As if anything could frighten her anymore.
Alex, the wonderful voice echoed again. Are you all right?
Depends, Chase. She answered as though it was perfectly normal to have a conversation in her mind. Am I alive or not?
Alive. But you’re dreaming. There was a smile in his voice.
I’m not at the institution?
No. But that was the last place you heard me. Your mind must have taken you there for that reason.
Why can I hear you?
I don’t have an answer for that.
She tried to blink through her dizziness, but her brain felt like a spinning CD. She used to watch enviously when the Lasalles would hold out their arms in their backyard, twirling like tops until they fell to the ground in heaps of laughter. She was not allowed to do such things, but she imagined this was what it felt like.
I’ve been hearing you for months now, Chase said. Since I died.
Why didn’t you talk to me before?
I tried. I couldn’t get through.
Alex tried to wiggle her fingers, but they refused to cooperate. How could her ears be working so perfectly and her other senses be so useless?
I’ve missed you, Chase whispered.
Rain began to drizzle onto Alex’s bed. You have no idea.
Yes, I do. I just told you I was in your head. I could feel it. Every little bit of it. I’m honestly not sure which was worse, mine or yours.
Then why does it feel better now? Alex asked. You’re still not here.
I’m here, he assured her. Haven’t you learned yet that your eyes are misleading? Don’t be fooled because you can’t see me.
But—
I won’t be long. His voice quieted. Time to wake up now.
In the lingering darkness, Alex could hear the chirping of birds. It was the first indication that her grieving brain hadn’t simply invented the events of yesterday. Birds hadn’t ventured anywhere near to her window since the Lasalles died. Sorrow is contagious, after all.
Reluctantly, Alex opened one eye. She waited for the unfamiliar room to transform, for the image to warp like a painting in a kiln until the colors bled together, melting into her lonely old bedroom in Parrish or the bare walls at the Eskers. Minutes elapsed before she accepted the room as reality.
Wrapping a blanket snugly around her, Alex shuffled to the French doors to gaze out at the town adorned in a gray overcoat of fog, half expecting Chase to be there waiting below her balcony like some paranormal Romeo. The ever-present fog dimmed the pumpkin-orange lights of the street lamps parading do
wn the lane, casting an appropriately spectral glow throughout her literal ghost town.
Even from this distance, her eyes were sharp enough to see the sign on the lamppost that read Lazuli Street. The road slept serenely, clean and quiet. There was no indication that the festival had occurred only hours before. From so high up, she could see past Lazuli, where the road forked. The left side curved toward the ball fields. The other veered right and disappeared under an awning of trees.
She guessed the disappearing road led to the two enormous towers in the distance. They melted into one another like a sculptor’s experiment, twisting near the top like a dip in a dance. Elevated tracery tattooed the stonework in green ringlets and wording. Alex lifted her hand toward the dancing building, and even from such a distance she could actually feel the roughness of the gnarled stone. She pulled back her hand in surprise, wondering how she could possibly know how something felt to the touch from miles away.
Because your fingers don’t exist anymore, her intuition answered for her. It’s all in your head.
It was jarring nonetheless, so she turned to survey the room, noticing details that she’d overlooked in her fatigue the previous night. A large misshapen clock hung above the wooden desk, its hands indicating the time without ever seeming to move, without ever ticking. It was affirmation that time could stand still in this world, yet somehow keep moving. She found a standard note of greeting and an itinerary so painfully similar to a high school schedule that when Alex picked it up, she grimaced. Today she would be subjected to psychology, intro and history. Tomorrow it would be science, sensory development, and physics. There was also a footnote about periodic general education. The absurdity of death workshops made her laugh aloud, and she could have sworn she saw the walls pulsate, inhaling her merriment.
“Good Lord,” Alex murmured. “I should have brought my backpack.”
She had hours before her first scheduled appointment. It was no use trying to go back to sleep. She was jittery with anticipation for what the day would bring. There was only one source of entertainment in the room: the wall that was corner to corner, ceiling to floor, stuffed with books.
One of these should put me back to sleep, she figured.
She extracted the thickest one: Eidolon Greats: A Compilation of Biographies. This seemed too structured, so she replaced it and ran her fingers along the spines of the others. Introduction to Eidolon and the Surrounding World. Maybe she could skim through it.
Poised in the middle of the room, an arm chair stood like a lone island, out of place. It looked like an antique, thick and heavy, the type of furniture that would usually merit the phrase “They don’t make ’em like this anymore.” Alex pushed it over to the French doors so she could occasionally glance up and feel at ease that her new world was still there. She curled her feet under her legs and propped the book on her lap.
Her brain devoured the text, a paragraph per second, retaining the information easily. She read until her head ached, the anchors of information weighing down her mind, and she was shocked to discover she’d read nearly four hundred pages. No wonder there were so many books in her room. It would probably only take her a week to read them. With a brain like this, school wouldn’t be so bad after all.
She gathered the appropriate books and turned, tripping over a backpack that she was positive had not been there before. It was identical to the one she’d owned in life. Coincidence? According to Kaleb, there were none.
She made her way to the door, which gracefully swung open of its own accord. It seemed to know her hands were full. She even would have thanked it if she hadn’t been distracted by a girl across the hall. Her back was to Alex, covered in a fuzzy lion’s mane of bushy grayish hair.
The girl spun around at that moment to find Alex there and dropped several of her books. “Oh!” she said in surprise.
Alex smiled in greeting, but the girl scooped up her books and scurried down the hall.
That was weird, Alex thought, trailing behind. When she reached the winding ramp, an arm was flung in front of her face, chopping the air like the swing of an ax and preventing her from following.
“You should wait a few more seconds,” Tess-the-Pest advised. “Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
Tess didn’t respond. Instead, she made a face like she’d swallowed a mouthful of lemon juice.
“Who is that?” Alex asked.
“Calla Bond. No doubt going to fetch her brother. I have no idea why that girl is on our floor.”
Bond. So she wasn’t tied to a tree outside.
Tess’s lips moved slightly while she eyed the ramp, counting the seconds since Calla had left. “Okay. We should be good now.”
Bewildered, Alex journeyed around the ramp and down to the vestibule. Tess walked a straight path, maintaining her statuesque posture, and spirits scampered out of the way when they saw her coming. The air around her screamed authority so loudly that Alex fought the desire to cover her ears.
They passed the fountain, and Alex noticed it now contained a misty, white substance. Tess held out her arm and wiggled her fingers along the surface of the captive cloud. “I’ll show you to your first class.”
It wasn’t an offer but a command. Alex had been planning to wait in the vestibule until one of the Lasalles appeared. She felt anxious without them, but something told her that disobeying Tess was a bad idea.
They stepped outside into another gray day. Drops of moisture speckled the cool air like water on a camera lens. The spirits occupying the tables littered around the square didn’t seem to mind. Tess passed a bench with two sharp-featured boys with beak-like noses and nodded in greeting. “My brothers,” she explained.
Alex scanned the courtyard, searching for the Lasalles, but the only spirit she recognized was Calla Bond, who tramped up the steps of the school, constantly watching her feet like the ground might crumble beneath her. She bent down to adjust the cuff of her jeans, and someone bumped her shoulder and knocked her sideways onto the ground.
Alex began to voice her disapproval when she nearly tumbled over a jagged slice of the bench that was overlooked during the cleanup.
“The bench was your doing, wasn’t it?” Tess asked, coming to a stop.
“Self defense.”
Tess glanced in her direction. “I heard you didn’t run. I’d be careful if I were you. Anyone who missed the first display is going to be chucking heavy objects at you to see a live encore.”
Alex hadn’t thought about that and felt a strike of paranoia, but everyone in the courtyard seemed preoccupied. The two girls at the table nearest to Alex and Tess were seated opposite one another. One was holding flashcards of random objects while the other girl had her eyes shut tightly. “Apple, hammer, moon,” she whispered. Alex’s mouth fell open.
“Meditation activity,” Tess explained curtly with a wave of her hand. “So how did you do it?”
“What?”
Tess took an exaggerated step over the stray mound of rock. She kicked it with her heel and began to walk again. “Control it.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing. I saw the bench coming, and then I just felt a pain in my head.”
“I’m sure you could do it again if you tried.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“It isn’t typical, you know. Being able to do that on your first day. You must have family here.”
Alex remembered what Jonas had said about Tess and her self-righteous cult. “I have no idea.”
“Hmm.” Tess remained quiet until they reached the stone doors of the school. “What session do you have first?”
“Psychology.”
The doors lurched open, revealing an entrance hall. Hushed voices of students and loud chirping reflected off the walls, echoing all the way to the tip of the fan vault ceiling. Alex breathed in the smell of fresh paper and pencil lead.
The largest of three staircases greeted them front and center, leading to three levels of balconies, simi
lar to the structure of Brigitta Hall. Two rippling staircases hugged the walls on either side and disappeared under dark archways.
Alex stood closest to the rightmost staircase, where she noticed artistic calligraphy carved into the stone that read “To the Grandiuse.”
Below the writing and at her feet jumped no less than five hundred tiny blue birds, chirping on the shiny black floor. How something so unusual was the last thing she noticed was evidence that she was beginning to expect the unexpected.
“What is this?” Tess lifted her leg and skipped over one of the creatures. The large elaborate tail feathers of the miniature peacocks fanned out behind them.
“These aren’t usually here?” Alex asked. One of the birds pecked at her ankle, but she felt nothing.
“No! Absolutely not!”
And then Alex heard Tess inhale sharply like she’d been stung. Calla Bond had appeared beside them. Tess attempted to move away, but the entryway was much too crowded.
“What’s going on?” Alex heard Calla ask a nearby student.
In response, the boy grabbed his ear and slunk away. Despite the obvious distraction, Alex noticed that every eye in the room had shifted from the flock of blue birds to focus on Calla, but no one waved, smiled, or spoke to her.
Alex couldn’t help but rubberneck at the strange girl too, until a shadow fell over them. A man entered the hall. His long coat billowed behind him, and he waved his burly arms. The force of his motions sent a furious gust through the entryway, impelling each student to the wall like bugs to flypaper, Alex included. She craned her neck to watch the man swish his arms, the conductor of a squawking orchestra. He created a swirling maelstrom to eat up each and every bird. His wild hair strewed erratically across his face, which trembled in concentration.
He filled the vortex and began to march out the door, but stopped abruptly to frown back at the newburies. Alex couldn’t tell if his focus was on her or Tess or Calla—perhaps all three—but the weight of his stare made Alex feel faint. And then he was gone, the chirping tornado following behind him.
Alex released herself from the wall. “Who,” she gasped, “was that?”
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