Of Breakable Things

by A. Lynden Rolland

  Skye tugged a few from their strings and trudged out the door. Alex followed so closely behind her that she accidentally stepped on her heel, no doubt eager to get away from the snake.

  Banana slugs were easy to find, even though they camouflaged among many of the plants. Skye could walk right up and yank them from the branches. Admittedly, they were pretty cute. One of them really liked her, she could tell, so she decided to keep it for a pet. Lulu, she called it, perched on her shoulder like a parrot.

  “Skye?”

  “What?” She could barely hear Alex. Her face was buried in the depths of leaves and dirt through which she was furiously sifting.

  “Are the Darwins always so well behaved in ABC?” Alex sounded amazed.

  “They really aren’t the monsters you think they are.”

  “The other day they hung a boy from a gargoyle on the top of the school! How is that not bad?”

  “He must have done something to make them angry,” Skye reasoned in her most innocent voice. She plucked a slug from the ground and said hello to it before placing it in a tube and wiping her hands on her pants. “They don’t usually act without reason.”

  “How are you finding those slugs so quickly?”

  “I always get jobs like this,” Skye complained. “I’ve gotten used to finding needles in haystacks.”

  “Yeah, but how do you know the slug is under two feet of dirt?”

  Skye stood up and flicked a slug into the container. “They leave a trail.”

  “Where?”

  “Use your eyes.”

  “Oh, my fault,” Alex joked sarcastically. “I’ve been trying to see with my ears.”

  Skye gave her a stern look. “I guess the more accurate advice would be to use your mind to see, since that’s what you’ve used all along, spirit or not.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Alex groaned. “It’s too early in the morning for a lesson.”

  This was Alex acting like she still had a body. “Concentrate on the ground. You can see much farther now than you ever could before, right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “It’s the same thing with something right in front of you. Don’t limit yourself to what is just on the surface.”

  Alex squinted.

  Skye stepped closer, studying Alex’s face. The slugs smudged the ground with a fluorescent yellow slime like highlighter ink, but Alex would never see it using her eyes instead of her mind. Skye was a natural at seeing and believing the unbelievable. Chalk it up to her upbringing in nature, but Skye knew objects had their own energy, their own history. “Refocusing isn’t going to help. Eventually, you’ll learn to use your mind to push through the ground.” Skye flicked one last slug into the container. “That’s it! We have plenty.”

  “Why the rush?”

  Skye hadn’t even noticed she was practically running. “Oh. If we get back early enough, Duvall will probably let us help her mix the serum.”

  “What?”

  “That stuff in the glass bowl on her desk. She’s always making some sort of concoction, whether for students, or the Patrol, or for the doctors at the medical center.”

  Once they reached the learning center, Skye hurried down the hallway en route to Duvall’s room, so preoccupied with holding the container steady without dropping Lulu that she completely collided with Alex, who had stopped abruptly. She placed a hand on the wall to steady herself, and she felt a rippling ambience of concern and heard the murmuring of voices. Why would the wall be worried? She tilted her head towards the door to indicate that they should move closer.

  She heard Duvall speak first. “You think it’s the real thing?”

  “We don’t know,” a gruff voice answered.

  “Westfall,” Alex mouthed to Skye.

  “Who could possibly be in charge?” Duvall asked.

  “A lot of people wanted her dead. The possibilities are limitless.” Westfall sighed loudly. “The Ardor Service questioned a few of the spirits who lived in Paradise at the time of the original members. But nothing out of the ordinary came up. I saw those spirits firsthand. I watched Van Hanlin hand pick those who left Paradise. This seems too juvenile for them.”

  Skye heard the clinking of Duvall’s bracelets. “Have you considered that perhaps Van Hanlin is the reason they sent you here? To keep an eye on him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. He’s made some crucial mistakes. But I think it’s more because of Alex Ash.”

  Things were getting interesting. Skye eyed her popular friend, who listened ardently.

  “So you agree with me about her?” Duvall asked.

  “No,” Westfall replied. “If Alex was who you think she is, she would have moved before I even planned to throw the orbs at her. It doesn’t matter if she stopped them in midair. She isn’t who you think, Lucia. Besides, the incidents began before she died.”

  “Are you forgetting that Alex’s arrival was predicted? This is certainly the year!” Duvall exclaimed. “We were told specifically, ‘the year of the siblings.’ Or have you been around for another class of newburies with so many family members? There hasn’t been a group of siblings since the DeLyres! She predicted it, Ardor! And don’t you dare lie to me and tell me you don’t believe this is the year! Why else would you have arrived here, my dear? I’m guessing you heard about the multiple sets of siblings and came running!”

  Skye was in awe of Duvall. No one spoke to crotchety old Ardor Westfall in such a way.

  Duvall’s voice became quiet. “At least it justifies the mother’s death.”

  Mother. Skye had overheard the Darwins whispering something about Alex’s relatives, but they’d never mentioned a mother. There was something special about Alex, but if Westfall was involved, her past had to be tainted. Westfall was famous for three things: fighting, protecting, and sniffing out criminals.

  “We couldn’t have known they would go after her,” Westfall said. “Or that they would make assumptions off of mere resemblance. But again, I blame Van Hanlin. He said he could handle the surveillance in Brigitta.”

  “Well,” Duvall said softly, “the girls will be back soon.”

  Skye put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and guided her backwards down the hallway. Alex nodded to her, showing she understood. They would make it appear like they were just arriving. No sooner had they reached the edge of the hallway when Westfall stepped from the classroom. He eyed the duo suspiciously, but then again, his face always twisted in such a way.

  “Hello, Ardor Westfall,” Skye and Alex both mumbled, sidling past him.

  Duvall stood behind a large bowl on her desk. She was staring into space and stirring a liquid that hissed angrily. Smoke rose from the concoction in the form of a gray tongue writhing like a sea serpent. “It isn’t polite to eavesdrop,” she said absently.

  How did Duvall know everything? From what Skye deduced, witches were not physic.

  “Slugs, please,” Duvall said, holding out her hand.

  Skye handed them over and peered into the bowl. The mixture chomped its lips and spat at her. She withdrew quickly, cupping her hand over Lulu protectively.

  “See anything new?” Duvall asked.

  “Always.”

  “You finished even more quickly this time, Skye.”

  “The ground was dry. It was easier to see the trail.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if everything that was buried left a trail?” Duvall gazed at Alex meaningfully, and then she pointed to the far wall. “Go into the cabinet above the sinks and fetch two daggers.”

  Skye did as she was told and then handed one of the daggers to Alex.

  Duvall handed each of them an Erlenmeyer flask filled with brown kidney-shaped objects. “Spear the little critters and collect the juice in a vial. Take your time. Don’t leave any juice to waste.”

  Alex didn’t know what she was in for. This should be entertaining, Skye thought. Alex lifted the dagger and prepared to slice the skin. When the blade grazed the Alybon, the seed propelled from the table
like a bullet.

  Alex whipped back in her seat, shocked. She lowered her chin to the desk, analyzing the seeds, but they remained still. Skye bit her lip to keep from giggling. Alex lifted the dagger again, ever so slightly cutting the nearest Alybon, which cackled in a raspy voice and bent in half, clutching its belly in hysterics.

  Alex shrieked, and Skye burst into laughter.

  “You could have warned me,” Alex huffed, pointing to the creature. She certainly had a quick temper.

  Skye grinned. ”And miss the look on your face?”

  Though the corner of her mouth was upturned, Duvall continued to stir intently.

  “Hold it like this.” Skye demonstrated how to grasp the sides. “And after you cut, just squeeze a little bit, so it doesn’t tickle it so much.”

  “It’s alive?” Alex asked, sticking out her bottom lip crookedly to blow a curl from her face.

  “Well yeah,” Skye said. Wasn’t it obvious? “Seeds become trees, you know.”

  “Silly me. Trees aren’t usually ticklish.”

  “Sure they are,” Skye said. Wasn’t that common knowledge? She’d heard them laughing so many times, even back when she was living. She finished squeezing the first Alybon and placed it back on the desk, where it pulsed up and down, catching its breath.

  “Does it hurt them?”

  “Does it sound like it’s in pain?” Skye knew that seeds were resilient, much more durable than the saplings they’d sprout after their burial. “They enjoy it. They fill back up in a few days.”

  “With what?”

  “Alybon juice, of course.”

  “Now,” said Duvall, “come on up and pour it in very slowly. One at a time!” She held up one hand to halt them from moving together.

  Alex stepped up and tilted the vial, releasing its contents into the steaming mud-like goo. A cloud of brown smoke puffed into the air, carrying the aroma of cinnamon.

  Duvall smiled. “Very good, my dear.”

  Skye emptied the contents of her vial into the mixture next. The serum turned an incandescent shade of purple. It was liquid sunset. And right as she smiled in delight, the color faded to a dull hue. Fingertips of disappointment pinched her.

  “It’s done,” Duvall announced in satisfaction.

  “Do you need us to help you package it?” Skye asked, eyeing the rows of tubes waiting behind Duvall. “I promise not to drop any this time.”

  Duvall glanced over her shoulder. “No. Go ahead and get ready for your day.” She shooed them off. “And be sure to go the back way.”

  Skye clucked her tongue in disappointment. “Why?”

  But Duvall already had her head halfway into the bowl.

  March 1867

  Your dreams have been odd, Sephi. I know you don’t like it when I visit them, but being here I think of you constantly. Rocks, sand, and soil? What are you looking for? Are you thinking of Paradise, too? I do think our connection is something neither of us can control. Why else would our minds be so open to one another?

  Don’t worry about my confusion. I just need to exercise my mind a bit more. I wish I had an ancestry to guide me.

  I tried to get some answers from the Darwins and DeLyres since they both have such substantial history here, but the card game last night was a debacle. I knew it wasn’t a good idea for Ben DeLyre to invite his brother, Leo. The boy is more of a nob than anyone I’ve ever encountered. Technically, it isn’t cheating when I toss my cards under the table. If no one else notices, I believe it is their fault, not mine. Leo caught on towards the end of the night and began a tirade about morality. Gave me quite the headache.

  Leo DeLyre asked about you several times. I think you have an admirer.

  Eviar

  ***

  Ellington couldn’t stop beaming. Ardor Westfall had seemed impressed with his findings. He struggled to steady himself on the bumpy path back through the trees, precariously balancing a stack of thick folders stuffed with his uncle’s precious records.

  “Ellington!” He heard her voice and his heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he thought it was her, but he should have known better. Of course it was only Alex. Why was she awake so early?

  “Ellington!” she bellowed again.

  Without slowing his speed, he peeked over his shoulder. She was right behind him. There was no escaping. He tried to sound jovial. “Alex, hello! How are you?”

  “I’m fine! What are you doing? Why were our last few sessions cancelled? Not that I’m complaining. No offense.” She quickly held up a hand. “You know I hate therapy.”

  “Oh!” He did his best to hide the folders in his arms. He’d exited through the back door in order to avoid seeing anyone. “I’ve been asked to do a bit of research, I’m afraid. It isn’t usually my responsibility, but the mission falls under my area of expertise.”

  “What are you researching?” Alex asked breathlessly.

  “Oh,” Ellington said with a start. “Um … ” Not your mother, he almost blurted out. He’d been skirting around Alex’s questions about Erin since the poor girl arrived here. How do you tell a child that her mother was hunted like an outlaw with a price on her head?

  “What is it? Paradise?”

  This girl was behaving more and more like her mother every day. How did she hear about that?

  “Er … why?”

  “I read about it.” She shrugged. “And it’s written there on your folders.”

  Ellington shifted the folders, but it was no use hiding the labels now. “I have been asked to take a look at it, yes.”

  Alex’s eyes lit up. “It’s a city, right?”

  She sounded so hopeful, and Ellington wondered why. She should be terrified of Paradise. “Not quite.”

  “Oh. What is it, then?”

  Drat, thought Ellington. How was he going to get out of this one? For a second he considered running away like a scared child. He adjusted his folders and sighed. He could give her pieces of the truth. He would just have to sieve it a bit. “I suppose people call it a city, but spirits do not make the choice to live there.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Paradise is a prison.” He absorbed Alex’s shocked expression. “My uncle Crete Reynes was also a psychologist, and often he traveled to Paradise to help the inmates. The prisoners tend to be rather extraordinary spirits, but they don’t really have it all together up here.” He pointed to his head. “Paradise is a place for them to get help and repent their actions.”

  “A prison?” Alex began to fumble with the strings on her sweater. “Did you by chance ever know of anyone named Eviar?”

  Ellington noticed relief on Alex’s face when he shook his head. “No, I’ve never heard that name before.”

  “Oh,” Alex said slowly. “So, why are people suddenly interested in Paradise?”

  He let out a little laugh. “No one is interested. Why would you think that?”

  “Because you told me. Just now. You’ve been asked to research it.”

  Darn my big mouth, Ellington thought, perplexed. “Yes, I suppose I did.” He balanced the stack of folders in one hand and swiped at his glossy hair with another. If he were human, he’d be sweating bullets. He’d been given explicit instructions not to give Alex any information that would put her in harm’s way. Such things had led to her mother’s demise, so they’d chosen a different tactic for Alex. “The people who end up there are typically very talented. Often, their profiles are researched to see if they can be of some service. At one point, the government sent Van Hanlin and my uncle to evaluate the inmates for release to help with the war. Although they were useful to the city, they also secretly terrorized it with what they thought were harmless jokes. Pranks.”

  He used the last word carefully, and she seemed to understand. “You think those inmates never went back to Paradise?” she asked.

  “No, they certainly never went back. They were recruited to help fight during the Restructuring, but they were on the losing side of the battle. They were
all killed.”

  “So then what is there to research?”

  “Other inmates. Pranks aren’t unusual in the city of Paradise. The inmates need something to do, and according to the guards, they channel their creativity into practical jokes and such.”

  “You think some more were recently released?”

  “According to the Patrol, no. But I’m looking into it.”

  Alex nodded. “But you’ve never heard of someone named Eviar?”

  Ellington wondered why she was so sure this was someone’s name. “No. Never.”

  She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Thank you for talking to me, Ellington.”

  “No problem.” Ellington was very happy to end the conversation.

  “Is your uncle still alive?”

  “No, unfortunately he isn’t. His job was rather dangerous. He had to speak to those spirits, to counsel them. There was risk that he would uncover things that others wanted to keep a secret. He practically walked around with a bull’s-eye on his back.” Ellington turned to leave.

  “If all those inmates are gone, why would he have been targeted?” she called after him.

  “Why indeed,” he muttered.

  June 1867

  Dear Sephi,

  I was too cowardly to admit to you earlier that I saw something in your thoughts, but something tells me that you already knew that. Were you aware that I was there in your mind?

  I know you worry about my friends. I have to admit that at times I do, too. What they consider to be “harmless fun” is often not harmless at all. If I hadn’t intervened last week, there’s no telling how long that cluricaun would have been hanging from its ankles in the courtyard. No one likes a cluricaun, especially one that has been drinking, but regardless, the last thing this town needs is bad luck.

  I don’t know why it has been so difficult to control myself recently. I regrettably admit that a part of me wants to lose control because it is then that I feel the most powerful. When I’m involved with Gideon’s hijinks, the nerves spark something within me. Could the plague of my temper, or my anxiety, my emotions, be what makes me so extraordinary?