Seeing Light (The Seraphina Parrish Trilogy)

by Warren, Michelle

  Turner gauges each of us as though he’s testing the truth of Bishop’s words from our faces. Sam breaks first and looks away, crying softly. Her willowy body shakes as I reach an arm around her shoulder to pull her close.

  “It’s true, then?” Turner stiffens and stands taller.

  I tighten my lips and nod.

  Bishop reaches for him but Turner steps back. And in response, the hologram immediately simmers, zaps, and retreats. He’s gone so fast, there’s no way we can stop him.

  “Turner?” I step from Sam and turn in a circle, looking for him or the Animate and can find neither.

  “See?” I turn and yell at Bishop. “This is what I’m talking about!”

  “He’ll be okay, Sera. He just needs to let the information settle,” Bishop offers.

  Obviously too upset to hear any more, Sam runs past Bishop, clipping his shoulder, escaping to her room and slams the door.

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said. It’s bad enough that it happened, and now he has to deal with it too. And on top of that, we have to tell him about your family!”

  Bishop stands frozen, jaw tight, his gaze drilling into my eyes. He’s so angry he doesn’t speak. Instead of responding, he storms out of the apartment, slamming the front door as he leaves.

  I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts because everything is falling apart. My team is falling apart, and I’m not sure if there’s any way to put us back together. Not the way we were, at least. I sigh and rub my forehead.

  Hearing Sam sobbing in the next room, I knock on her door. When I do, the wailing relents and I peek inside. She lies on her stomach, facedown in a pillow, and when she slowly looks up, puffy skin encircles her red eyes. “How can he be so insensitive?” she asks and sits upright with her legs crossed, hugging a pillow to her chest.

  I walk across the room and drop next to her on the bed. “I know that you’re right; he didn’t mean to hurt us. But still, it’s just going to take some time getting used to seeing Turner this way.” And knowing that from now on, this is the only way I will ever see him, my chest pangs with heartache.

  “Yeah, but the problem is that I could sense Hologram Turner’s emotions, Sera. Not quite hear his thoughts like Bishop. He was so scared and heartbroken.”

  “Can you sense him now?”

  “It’s all hazy, but I think he’s mulling it over, like Bishop said he would.”

  “Well, I’m sure he needs to get used to the idea as much as we do.”

  Sam nods. “What did that doctor do to you?”

  “He was trying to determine if I was a Chosen or not.”

  “A Chosen?” She scoots closer.

  “Bishop hasn’t shared with you yet?” Though they can tap into each other’s minds whenever they want with their Protector and Seer connection, he probably wanted to give her the bad news in person.

  She shakes her head, so I tell her all about what happened to me in Nocturna, about Perpetua, Terease, the prophecy, the key, the contacts, and the Reapers. When I reach the part about Bishop’s family and how they are rapidly aging in Nocturna’s fast-forwarded time, her tears begin to fall again, so I remind her that there’s a way to set the inhabitants free through fulfilling the prophecy.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re a Watcher at this moment. You have the gifts of both a Wanderer and a Protector?”

  “Yes, according to Terease.”

  “Considering how you can totally kick butt now, that makes sense.” She pauses. “And if you become a Chosen, you will have all three abilities?”

  “If I do, and apparently, that’s a big fat if. We’ll only know for sure after I’ve been anointed at the Oaths. At that point, if the Masters choose me, I’ll make the transition to Chosen.”

  “Oh.” She falls into her pillow.

  Her disappointment causes me to backtrack. “I mean, I’m sure it will happen, it has to happen. I’ll do whatever I need to do to save everyone.” The last thing I want Sam to do is lose hope, so I change the subject by telling her about Dr. Shockey.

  “He thinks he knows that I’m a Watcher and will become a Chosen, but at the moment he has no proof. There’s a good chance he will, though, when the blood test results come back.” I rub my palms down the length of my thighs, trying not to think about what that means because it’s one more thing to worry about.

  “And we have to find your mom’s journal so you can learn more about the prophecy?”

  “Yeah, and to do that I need a favor from you.” I pull the key on the cord over my neck and hand it to her. “This is supposed to open the Member Archives. Terease said that my mom’s journal might be there. Can you investigate a little, find out where the entrance is in the Academy?”

  “Of course.” She dries her tears. “It’s about time you use me for what I’m here for.”

  “I will from now on. I promise.”

  “Have you told Bishop everything?”

  “Yes, for once.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Shocking.”

  “Ha, ha.” I give her a playful push.

  Relieved that Sam seems to feel better and is on board, I glance at the clock on her nightstand. Not that I can think about school with everything that’s going on, but we’ve already missed our morning class. Any more absences and I might receive another visit from the doctor. “Why don’t you go to lunch, and I’ll meet you in a bit?”

  She nods and wipes her face with her palms.

  ::12::

  Teamwork

  Of course, Bishop is nowhere to be found when I leave Sam’s bedroom. He’s either still angry, or off explaining our morning absence to our teachers.

  I take a quick shower, pull my hair into a braid, and dress in my school uniform. When I look in the mirror, the truth is that I actually do look sick. My cheeks are gaunt and colorless from either crying, being tortured, or just coming back from the depths of hell. Which option or maybe all, I’m not sure.

  So much has happened in a short amount of time, but with all the uncertainty, I’m happy to have a task—anything that will change our lives for the better. I need to deal with finding my mom’s journal today. The Oaths are on Saturday, just days away. I may become a Chosen that day and have no clue what that means.

  When I leave the apartment my best friend, Macey, sneaks up behind me, then settles into step with me.

  “I thought you’d never feel better. Can you believe that Bishop wouldn’t let me see you? We had serious words. I may never talk to him again. I think I hate him.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder in a dismissive gesture, reminding me how much I’ve missed her.

  I give her a tight smile. “I’m sure he just did it to protect you from my toxic germs.” If she only knew what I’d really been up to, she would die. But I can’t bring her into my mess. Keeping her in the dark is the best way I can protect her and her team.

  “Ick! You still look awful.” She steps back. “Maybe you should sleep it off for another day. Seriously, chick, you look like patient zero.”

  “I feel a little better and I’m tired of my room.”

  “Suit yourself. Just don’t get too close.” She holds up her palm.

  We stroll down the hall, past groups of students who are sharing all the recent purchases they’ve made with their new credit cards. Some kids sport new watches, tiny dogs, or the latest phones, but what they don’t know is that each shiny new object comes at a steep price—their soul.

  We walk into the main arcade, and the lunch bell rings. All at once everyone makes their way down the stairs and to the floor below. We enter the dining hall. Boxy ceilings reach high and a large fire cracks and pops in the enormous fireplace. The room smells of a divine mix of sweet and spicy, making my stomach grumble, but not with hunger. It feels sick with the unknown.

  Sam and Bishop sit at our usual table with Macey’s teammates, Quinn and Xavier. Macey and I drop down on the long bench and greet everyone. Bishop looks away when my eyes find his. Instantly, guil
t surges through me. Perhaps I was too hard on him earlier. With all that’s happened, his entire family being taken away and not knowing how long they’ll live, it really wasn’t fair for me to be so upset. We’re all affected, him just as much, if not more than me.

  Determined to make things right, I stand up with a sigh and walk over, then lean close to him so no one can hear our exchange. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t do it to hurt me.” In fact, after further thought, though it was a bad idea, I realize his reasoning was extremely selfless considering the circumstances. He’s always so generous, never thinking of himself, which makes fighting my love for him that much more difficult.

  He spins and faces me, then takes my hand. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s not right to put Turner through this.” He looks down. “Even if it’s just Hologram Turner. He seems so—real.”

  I nod. “Has he come out of hiding yet?” Curious, I look around.

  “Not yet. He will when he’s ready. This is how he was when we were little.” He smiles, looking off in the distance. “Once he became so furious that Mum allowed me to put the star topper on the Christmas tree instead of him that he hid in the attic for two days and wouldn’t come out until little Charlotte cried for missing him.” A sad smile transforms his face. “He was a good brother. I wish I’d been a better one—to both him and Charlotte. And poor Father, he’s taken Turner’s death the hardest. They were extremely close. And though you would never know it, we were extremely close before we came here. This world, who we became, ruined us in so many ways.”

  Without him explaining, I understand what he means. They were close before they met me—before I became the crack in their foundation. The realization stings but I put it aside to comfort him.

  “First off, you’re a great brother. And whatever the prophecy requires, I will do. I’ll do anything to save them. I promise.”

  “I believe in you, Sera. More than you know.” He removes a handkerchief from his pocket to dry his eyes.

  While I rub his back, I say softly, “Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “I wish it were me, Sera. It should have been me who saved you, and who died.”

  Appalled, I lean over and wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. “No, don’t ever say that.”

  His head falls against my chest, and I hug him and drop a kiss on his messy hair. Clearly we’re all still devastated over our new circumstances; all the more reason to accept the little bit of Turner that’s survived. Sam relocates nearby and pats Bishop on the arm. The others at the table must realize we’re going through something personal, and they give us space, chatting amongst themselves.

  “I’ll be okay. Let’s just deal with this one day at a time.” Bishop pulls away. He nods with a ghost of a smile. I settle next to him on the bench as the waitress drops the menus on the table. Scarlett, Atticus, and Agnes join our group as we order lunch.

  “Today, I’ll do some research on the key relic you gave me,” Sam says, speaking normally as though we’re investigating a class project. There’s no need to alarm our friends.

  “Sounds good,” I say and take a sip of water.

  Bishop places his hand on my arm. “Thanks, Sera.”

  “For?”

  “For finally trusting us.”

  I nod without responding. Honestly, it doesn’t feel right to include them and potentially put them in harm’s way, but now that I understand the reason for my feelings, that Watchers do this, instinctively push their teams away, I’ll do all that I can to resist the urge.

  The lunch group discussion turns to the Oaths.

  “I still have no clue what we’ll be doing at the Oaths,” Macey admits, picking at her blue nail polish.

  Bishop waves us close and we lean in. “There’s not much literature on the actual ceremony, the Society keeps that part very secret. Of course, what we do know is that it takes place in the Grand Lodge in Gibeon and that we’ll be anointed. But,” he says confidentially, “I’ve heard whisperings of sacrifices.”

  I kick him under the table. What is he doing?

  “Sacrifices?” Macey’s eyes widen.

  “Yes.”

  Scarlett nudges Atticus. “Pay attention. This is important.” Atticus looks up from his new phone and pulls out his ear buds with a disinterested sigh.

  Everyone huddles closer.

  Macey leans closer. “Who or what is sacrificed?”

  “Wanderers.”

  I grab Bishop’s leg and squeeze. We’re heading into dangerous territory. The Society threatened Mona just for telling me this very information.

  “What? That’s insane. They would never do that,” Atticus challenges.

  “No, quite true. The students who decide not to take the Oaths.”

  Bishop keeps talking and I can’t stop him; I realize what he’s doing, and he’s right. We should all be running around warning everyone of the truth. I’ve seen the repercussions for myself in Nocturna with Perpetua and Stu. When he finishes, our group naturally separates into teams, each having their own individual discussions. A moment later Macey jumps from the table, seeking another group to relay the information to.

  I pull Bishop aside. “Are you sure this is the best way to warn everyone?”

  “I didn’t plan on it, but if someone is planning on rejecting the Oaths, they may think twice about it. And we can save them from Nocturna for now.”

  I nod. My gaze follows Macey and her bouncing dark curls as she slowly and systematically pollinates the room with gossip. With her disseminating the news, everyone will know by Saturday.

  Our food arrives and though I’m starved, I only pick at it, nibbling here and there. My stomach clenches with the realization that I’m in a position to save every Wanderer here from the awful life that the Society’s created for them. I can free them from the lies, the mind control, the theft of our dreams and being blackmailed with them. I can give them the freedom to choose whom they love, and to choose a life other than what the Society dictates for them. I can prevent them from being forced to sacrifice their children. Yes, the first step has been taken, but it’s up to me to set everyone free, completely and irrevocably.

  The bell rings and all the students migrate to their next class. I lag behind Sam and Bishop, deep in thought and scheming. It’s ridiculous to go to class today. I can’t keep up this charade any longer.

  Sam looks over her shoulder as she whispers in Bishop’s ear. They stop and wait for me to join them.

  “What?” Sam’s blue eyes assess me.

  “I have a plan.”

  “Of course you do.” She folds her arms.

  “I can’t wait around, going to class and pretending everything’s okay. I need to do all I can now!” I gesture wildly, overcome with frustration.

  “Sera!” Bishop hisses through clenched teeth. “Not so loud.” His jaw tightens and he slides in front of me, blocking one of the E.Y.E.S., the school security cameras that watch almost every move we make.

  “Listen up, here’s the plan: Bishop’s going to skip Animate Anatomy and research the prophecy. Sam and I are going to find the Member Archives.” I point my finger at each of them in turn with authority.

  I don’t allow either to respond; this is how it has to be. Divide and conquer.

  “We’ll meet up later and fill each other in on what we’ve found,” I say to Bishop. Then I grab Sam’s arm and shuffle her down the hall to our apartment.

  ::13::

  Seeing More

  When we reach our apartment, I stride into Sam’s bedroom and she follows, locking the door behind us.

  “I want you to teach me how to see the life path of a relic.” I plop down on the floor, legs crossed.

  She regards me for a moment, pursing her lips as though considering if it’s plausible. “Okay. We’ll try.” She shrugs. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

  She removes the archive key from the cord on her neck and places it on the ground in front of us, and then she settles
on the floor facing me, folding her long, graceful legs to one side. This is her typical meditation stance: body poised, shoulders back, chest out, neck elongated, and chin lifted. She closes her eyes and speaks. “First, find your most comfortable position. It should be the spot that you could sit in for hours without readjusting.”

  I think about it for a moment and instead of sitting, I lie down, flat on my back, arms relaxed at my side. “Okay.”

  “Now, do everything that I say, starting with clearing your mind of any chatter.” She pauses.

  “You must relax every muscle in your body, and as I say each body part, release the tension that resides there.” She pauses between each item on the list, pronouncing each one in a slow, soothing manner. “Jaw—shoulders—chest—arms—stomach—knees—feet. Allow all the weight of your body to sink into the floor. Sinking, sinking, heavier and heavier. Press all that tense energy through your body and out through your toes, squeezing every bit out until you’re completely relaxed.”

  She pauses, then says, “Now, slow your breath, inhaling and exhaling quietly.”

  I do as she asks.

  “That’s right, softer and softer with so little movement that your shallow breath settles on the bridge of your nose.”

  She allows me to work through her suggestions, and when my breath turns so shallow that my lungs barely move, an unexpected twinkling spark of warmth settles between my eyes.

  “You’ve got it. Now, allow the heat to grow, pulsing larger until you can hold one focused image.”

  With a flash, an image emerges from the haze of speckled fog. I push into the image, stretching it, searching to define the edges and lines, building it up from a sketch to a completed drawing. But as hard as I try, it remains fuzzy and indistinguishable.