Chasing Before

by Lenore Appelhans

  I place my hand lightly on one of the stones of what’s left of the bridge, my fingers tracing the deep cracks etched into its surface. I wish I could somehow fix it. The gray color shimmers silver for a moment, and the stone appears less damaged somehow. But that’s impossible. Stress is making me see things that aren’t there.

  Hugging my arms to my chest, I proceed south along the gorge until I find a bench facing out. The outline of buildings in Area One is so much like Earth that homesickness creeps up on me. I lie down on the bench and rest my chin on my folded hands.

  I try to practice the meditation drills Furukama assigned for tomorrow, but it’s no use. I’m too distracted—by the twin memory globes that revealed I asked Neil to marry me. By the twin bridge explosions that revealed my guilt. And by having to run away from Neil because I’m keeping too many secrets from him.

  I stew for what seems like hours, until the sunrise begins to paint the sky gold over the gorge. I go back to my room to pick up my binder before class.

  The morning bells ring as I open the door to my room. Neil will check on me soon, I’m sure. I rush across the room to grab my binder, and my shoes crunch on broken glass. The framed photo Neil gave me of him in his Scout uniform lies facedown on the floor. It must have fallen during the bridge bombing, but I don’t have time to clean up the mess now. I turn to leave, glancing at the Morati’s small table as I do. Another memory globe hangs suspended on a wire hanger with a circular base, like a shiny Christmas ornament for sale in a store.

  twenty-seven

  I FREEZE IN TERROR. I cannot touch this globe, or who knows what else the Morati will destroy. But if Neil sees it, he’ll make us go straight to Libby with it, and I’ll never know if Neil said yes to my marriage proposal. Obviously I can’t view the memory now, but if I wait it out, keep patient until the Morati are caught, then I can view it without consequences.

  A knock on the door springs me into action. I leap across the room, drop the binder, and pick up the hanger by its base, careful not to let the memory globe swing into contact with my skin. “One second,” I call loudly as I sink to the floor to shove the whole thing under my bed. I materialize a silvery bed skirt to hide the globe from prying eyes.

  Neil opens the door and peeks in as I’m bending down to retrieve the binder from the floor in front of the small table. “You ready?” he asks.

  Keegan is beside him, something that is becoming increasingly common these days. “Good morning, Miss Felicia,” he says in a way that makes me feel ancient. I’m only five years older than him, not fifty.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Binder in hand, I join them in the hallway, and we start walking.

  “So did you finish your big project?” Neil asks. Keegan hums and thumps a notebook against his leg.

  “Oh, man, it took me forever.” Lies beget even more lies. He won’t bring up last night with Keegan around. Instead we chat about Libby’s plan to test more healer recruits.

  We part ways like nothing awkward happened last night, with a quick kiss and a wave. I’m impressed with Neil’s poker face in regards to my abrupt departure. He has the enviable ability to go on as though everything’s fine, even when it most certainly isn’t. I guess that does make him a great candidate for the healing profession.

  When I get to the gym, Cash is standing at the door, keeping it open. His black combat boot rests atop the poor rubber duck. “I’m glad you decided to continue with the class after all. You can leave your binder on the table here and pick it up later. We don’t need it today.”

  No mention of Autumn’s expulsion or my part in it? I examine him for any signs of his late-night rendezvous with her, but he’s no more or less cheerful than usual. “Have a good study session last night?” I ask, a hint of suggestion in my tone.

  He looks at me, slightly puzzled. “Furukama-Sensei assigns a lot of work, doesn’t he? But he’s only hard on us because he wants to toughen us up.”

  Cash’s poker face is as good as Neil’s today.

  Inside the gym, people talk about Autumn’s absence. There are various rumors going around as to why she is missing. Some say it’s because she had a fight with Furukama. Some say it’s because she answered a call to become a healer. When my classmates see me, however, they look at me suspiciously. “I thought you wanted to quit,” Wolf grunts. I shrug and walk over to join Brady. We sit down together next to Cash and Moby.

  Furukama is seated at the front with his legs crossed, his arms outstretched and resting on his knees, and his eyes closed. He silences the chatter with a deep, vibrato hum. “Seraphim reign supreme,” he says. We run though some meditation drills. Then he stands and asks us to pair up.

  Once we do, Furukama begins to lecture us on what he calls mind blocking and mind stunning, two of the most important skills a seraphim guard can possess. Mind blocking involves protecting your own mind from foreign invasion. It is essential in battle because opponents may try to plant thoughts or try to compel you to do things you normally wouldn’t. It’s how he suspects the Morati were able to convince the healers and William the librarian that they were dying. Mind blocking would also keep others from extracting memories, the latter a skill the Morati already possess.

  Mind stunning allows you to incapacitate someone, since the mind controls the functions of the body. It is a more difficult skill to master.

  “Class begins with meditation,” Furukama says. “Then we spar.” He scans the room, nodding slightly when he sees me. “Wolf. Come help me demonstrate.”

  Wolf looks all too pleased to be Furukama’s first choice now that Autumn is gone. He bounds to the front of the gym and stands next to Furukama, pulling at the hem of his black jacket to straighten it.

  “First mind blocking and its opposite, mind mining.” Furukama squares his body so that he is facing Wolf, and offers up his palm. “While Wolf attempts to mine my mind and extract a memory, I create a force field in my mind to protect my memories.”

  As we watch, Wolf connects his palm to Furukama’s and they circle each other, almost like they’re dancing. “Tell me what you see,” Furukama demands of Wolf.

  “A great wall.” Wolf wheezes with effort. “Like the one in China. Trying to climb it, but it’s too slippery. Can’t get a foothold.”

  How can Wolf speak so coherently while his palm is connected? I am always immediately sucked in, and have no outside awareness of what goes on around me. Wolf’s ability must come from practice.

  “Good,” Furukama says. “Now you try to keep me out.”

  Wolf closes his eyes, and his forehead furrows in concentration. “Okay. Ready.”

  Furukama purses his lips almost imperceptibly. “A heavy steel wall.” He doesn’t say anything for about thirty seconds, and then, “A small breach in your fortress. I rip it open. I am inside. In your memory you sing in the shower.”

  Everyone laughs. Wolf pulls his palm away and ducks his head in shame. He starts to walk back toward his partner, but Furukama stops him. “Now we demonstrate mind stunning.”

  Wolf reluctantly returns to his former position facing Furukama. He’s no longer excited about being Furukama’s demonstration partner.

  Furukama reaches out his arm so that his palm is only inches from Wolf’s forehead. “I strike.” As we watch, Furukama slams his palm toward Wolf but stops just short of touching him. Nevertheless, Wolf reacts by falling to his knees and then collapsing into a heap at Furukama’s feet. “Wolf cannot move. I focused my energy on Wolf’s frontal lobe. That was a soft blow, and Wolf will be fine after a minute.”

  The silence in the gym is complete. Then Wolf gasps and sits up. He reaches for his ridiculous samurai topknot, as if to check that it’s still there, and then skulks back to his seat.

  “Now you practice with your partners,” Furukama says. “To start, if you are the attacker, your objective is to find an embarrassing memory. If you are the defender, your objective is to protect your memories. The practical applications of psychological warfare a
re many. If you are privy to secret fears, you have ammunition to use in battle.”

  Brady and I face off. He stands with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “Want to go first? Think you can do better than the poser?” he asks.

  “Who couldn’t?” I say with false bravado.

  “Furukama makes it seem easy, but then, he’s been at it for five hundred years. Go on. Give it your best.”

  I steady myself. The gorge dividing us from Area One seemed pretty insurmountable. I can use that as a moat around my memories so that Brady will have to scale the sheer cliffs to get to them. Once I form the image, I lift my palm to indicate that Brady can start.

  When he connects, I don’t rush to access his memories like I would in a normal memory transfer situation. Instead I concentrate on keeping him out while trying to stay moderately aware of my physical body—like a split consciousness. With one half of my mind I picture my moat, and with the other half I draw the outline of my body in the physical space of the gym.

  On the inside, I build the cliffs higher and higher to counter Brady’s attack. On the outside, I can see Moby and Cash, the student pair closest to us, in a fuzzy blur.

  I put up a decent fight, but Brady breaks through at about a minute and a half and forces us into a partial memory of me waking up on a transatlantic flight, rubbing my eyes and wiping drool from the corners of my mouth.

  I pull my palm away. “Uh . . . no one else needs to see that.”

  Brady punches me lightly in the arm. “Hey, I went awfully easy on you. I reckon you’ve got more embarrassing moments than that.”

  It was gentlemanly of him to not peek in on me while I was in the shower. “So you did a specific search?”

  “That’s right,” Brady confirms. “It’s easier to get past somebody’s block if you mine for something specific. In your case I searched for a memory of you buckled into a plane seat. First you lock on to that image, and then you force your way in. Now you try.”

  I take a moment to come up with a specific image. It has to be something common enough that he would have done it, but unusual enough that I can easily pinpoint it in his memories. For some reason I choose tetherball. Brady and I touch palms again, and I conduct a search attack, picturing a schoolyard, a pole, and the plump white ball hanging from it by a rope.

  But I don’t get far. Brady’s mind is boarded up with an endless amount of DO NOT ENTER signs. I poke and prod at it, looking for weaknesses, but before long Brady pushes me out completely and I’m staring at his face even though our palms are still connected.

  “What did you look for?” He grins and then lets his hand fall.

  “You playing tetherball.”

  “There’s your mistake. I was homeschooled out in the sticks. Never got the chance to play it.”

  “I’ll get you next time,” I tease.

  “Sure, sure,” he jokes back. “Your nose twitches when you concentrate real hard. Like a bunny. It’s awfully cute.”

  “Well, you have a vein that throbs in your forehead,” I shoot back.

  “Let’s try it again, Twitchy.” He nods encouragingly, and we go through the drill again. By the time we switch partners, he’s seen me drinking orange juice straight from the container, using my finger to brush my teeth, and ripping a page out of a library book. I’ve seen Brady scrubbing potatoes and playing hopscotch with his sister—hardly as embarrassing as the memories he’s found of me.

  Brady rubs my shoulder. “You have to get the hang of finding the good stuff. But it’s quite a feat that you saw anything at all today. It’s awfully rare for the first class.”

  “You think so?” I need to excel to meet Furukama’s expectations, and to stay on track to eventually expose the Morati.

  Furukama assigns us new partners. A willowy girl introduces herself as Emilia. Her white-blond hair is plaited in a single thick braid that reaches her midback, and her loose silk pants and camisole look more like pajamas than workout gear. Her relaxed posture and sleepy eyes peg her as an easy target. As soon as we begin to spar, she is alert, and she doesn’t allow me in a single time. She seems content, though, to view drab memories of mine—moments when I’m washing dishes or standing in line at the supermarket.

  At the end of class we line up to leave. Furukama didn’t even check on me once. Maybe he’s already regretting choosing me over Autumn. Then again, if Autumn was going to find the Morati, you would think she would have done it already. Furukama, too, for that matter. They’ve both practiced memory extraction a ton, after all.

  Of course Julian was probably right when he claimed that they didn’t have the advantage of practicing with an actual angel. My sessions with Julian should give me a steep learning curve.

  With that in mind I head back to the dorms to seek out Julian. I knock twice to announce my arrival, and then enter his room. But it’s empty. Julian is gone.

  twenty-eight

  I CLOSE MY EYES and concentrate on homing in on Julian’s signal. I reach out across the campus and find him in the administration building. My guess is that either Libby or Furukama has brought him in.

  Before I go to Julian, I pass by my room to drop off my binder.

  Outside Neil’s room there is a cluster of students, mainly girls. One of them, a short olive-skinned girl wearing a light green headscarf, approaches me nervously. “Aren’t you the girl from Neil’s band? The piano player?”

  Flustered by this unexpected attention, I can only gape at her. “Uh . . . yeah. That’s me.”

  “Oh! Neil’s so dreamy!” she squeals, and the others in her group join in the fangirling.

  “That he is.” I open the door to my room.

  “Omigod! You live across the hall from him?” One of them shrieks as I tuck myself inside. “You’re soooo lucky!”

  I shut the door firmly behind me, muting the excited chattering of the girls in the hall.

  I chuck my binder onto my desk and take a quick peek under the bed to check on the memory globe. It glows even brighter, calling to me to touch it. I turn away quickly; the less I look at it, the better.

  As I exit my room, the cluster of girls observes me with bright eyes and huge expectant grins. I raise my hand in a half wave, and they start squealing again. How loud will they scream when Neil finally appears? At least they have the decency to not enter his room and roll around on his bed. But then, everyone respects the unspoken but inviolate rule of room privacy here, with the exception of the Morati, obviously.

  I follow Julian’s signal and arrive at the administration building. I admire the bell tower before climbing up the wide stone steps to the entrance. The small wooden door stands in contrast to the ivory grandeur of the rest of the building. It’s like they’re showing off how great they are, but they don’t want you to come in.

  Inside, the impression is similarly grand. The entryway could be a replica of the main hall of Grand Central Terminal in New York City, complete with an information desk in the center, manned by a yellow-uniformed girl with the shiniest blue-black hair I’ve ever seen.

  According to my scan Julian is in a room on the right-hand side of the great hall. All the heads of careers have their offices and quarters here, including Nate. I approach the information desk. The girl flips through a glossy fashion magazine. It must be frustrating, knowing that she can never wear anything featured on its pages unless she touched the actual fabric on Earth. Not that most of the featured fashion is anything real people actually bought.

  “Excuse me. Which way to Furukama’s office?”

  The girl looks up from her reading. “Down that hallway,” she says in an Indian lilt, pointing to the left.

  “Thanks.” So it must be Libby who has Julian in her office. “Is Nate around? Or did he get stuck in Area Three?”

  “Nate is here.” The girl frowns and slides her magazine into a drawer. “Please do not tell him I was reading.”

  “Trust me, I won’t.”

  I turn to the right, expecting the information desk gi
rl to correct my mistake. But she doesn’t say a word.

  I continue to follow the signal of Julian’s brain waves. He’s very close. In fact, he must be a few rooms down from where the door stands open to reveal Libby inside, sitting at a desk, writing something on a pad of paper. She’s leaning forward toward Neil, who sits across from her, his back facing me. Their heads are close together, engrossed in discussion. Keegan is slumped on a small sofa, his head resting on his shoulder, and the brim of his cap pulled all the way to his chin.

  Before I can sneak past, Libby looks up. “Felicia!” she calls cheerfully. “Are you here to join the healers?” Neil turns at the sound of my name. He gives me a restrained smile, no dimples in sight, and my heart sinks. He’s not going to call me out in public about fleeing his room last night, but I can tell he’s bothered by it. He’ll like me even less when he finds out why I’m here.

  I take a deep breath. “Uh, not exactly. I’m here to visit Julian.”

  As I expected, Neil frowns.

  “Julian is in my custody now,” Libby says. “We need to better monitor who has access to him. That’s why I’m keeping him here.”

  I don’t want to do this in front of Neil, but since he’s attached to Libby at the hip now, it can’t be helped. “I’ll need access to him every day. As part of my training for seraphim guard.”

  “I assume this is Furukama-Sensei’s suggestion.”

  There’s not another chair in Libby’s office, so I sit on the sofa with Keegan. He straightens up, lifts his cap, and gives me a terse nod of his head.

  “No, it’s Julian’s.”

  “You’ve been to visit him?” Neil’s posture goes rigid. His eyebrows press so close together, they almost touch.

  “I had to visit him, to make sure he was okay,” I say. Neil nods, and his eyebrows relax slightly. He may not be thrilled about my visit, but he understands compassion. “Julian thinks if I do extra training with an angel, it will be easier for me to find the Morati posing as humans.”