A line of cabs queued to their left. The driver in front of the line waved through a fogged windshield, started his car, and pulled up to them.
John dropped his bag in the trunk. “We’ll go to the embassy, then get a different cab to take us to the airport.”
“Let me guess,” Stony said. “Someone’s after us.”
“Yeah. I’m betting several diplomats with a three-letter agency connection are headed here to retrieve us. While they come here, we go there to throw them off the scent.”
John closed the trunk and the two crawled into the rear seat.
He leaned toward the front, “The U.S. Embassy, please” and settled back for the forty-minute ride.
He had the driver drop them on a side street next to the embassy, away from the entrance. They stood with their bags and watched the car pull away into traffic. He hailed a passing cab to take them to the Beijing Capital airport.
The line of cars delivering departing passengers to Terminal 3 was a quarter-mile long and not moving. John’s patience frayed, then broke under the pressure of staying ahead of their pursuers.
“Let us out here.”
The driver pulled to the side. John shoved money at him, opened the door, and hopped from the car. Stony followed. They grabbed their luggage and joined a procession of other travelers who’d made the same decision.
They dragged their bags inside and along the fifty-foot-high glass wall that fronted the building until they found a small pocket of relative quiet in the early morning chaos.
He turned his back to the crush of people and leaned close to Stony. “I’ll tell you about the call with Marva as soon as we’re in the clear. Right now we need to make it harder for her to track us down.”
The crowd thickened around them, raising the noise level. He motioned her closer. “We have to assume Marva knows we have tickets to Shenyang because I used my cover card to buy them. I want her to think we bailed on those plans and headed somewhere else. Then we need to get to Shenyang as fast as we can without her being able to track us. With me so far?”
Stony nodded.
“Go to the China Airlines counter, cancel our existing tickets, and use your cover’s credit card to buy two round trip tickets to Xi’an. Even if Marva thinks Xi’an is bogus, she’ll still have to use local agents to check it out. I’ll find a currency exchange, max my cards for cash, and use some of it to buy new tickets to Shenyang.”
“Won’t the cash advance be a tipoff? And won’t she know we’re headed to Shenyang anyway by tracking us through security?”
John shook his head. “I’m hoping she’ll think we got the cash advance so we can drop out of sight once we get to Xi’an. The Chinese don’t share shit with the U.S. Our cash tickets to Shenyang will be invisible, and she won’t be able trace us.”
“Where do we meet after?”
“There’s a Starbucks on Level 2. Be there in an hour. I might be a few minutes late.”
“See you then.” Stony located the far distant ticket counters and dove into the crowd.
John turned and pushed his way to an information kiosk, where he was directed to the opposite side of the building. Crossing the terminal reminded him of a small sailboat tacking against a Nor’easter.
He finally reached port near a cluster of currency exchanges and ducked into the hushed quiet of a Citibank office, where he drew a five-thousand-dollar advance and exchanged it for thirty-five thousand Yuan.
From there he steered toward airline ticketing and bought tickets to Shenyang. The flight left in ninety minutes. His cash purchase would’ve popped a couple of security flags in the U.S. Here it aroused no interest.
He left the counter and hurried to an elevator for the terminal’s second level. He was surprised that Stony wasn’t standing in front of the Starbucks. He glanced at his watch.
Fifteen minutes late. Where the hell is she?
He looked up and down the balcony hallway. No Stony. He went inside. The aroma of dark roasted arabica made his mouth water. No Stony.
John hustled to the front of the line, bowed politely to the people standing there, and spoke with the barista.
“Do you speak English? I’m looking for an American woman, about this tall.” He held his hand at the height of the Asians around him.
“No American woman here.” Her English was rough, but the meaning clear. He thanked her and bowed again to the customers waiting patiently in line.
Maybe in a nearby store. I’m going to kill her.
He searched two stores in both directions and barged into a nearby women’s room. Nothing.
She’s gone.
He found a quiet spot and dialed Marva’s personal cell.
“Did your guys grab Stony?”
“Dish?” Marva asked. “Did my guys do what? No. We haven’t grabbed anyone, although not for lack of trying.”
“You’re positive? Maybe something happened in the last hour you don’t know about.”
“No, they would’ve called immediately.”
“Check again.” John struck his cane on the terrazzo floor in a rapid staccato. His eyes filled, thinking about what might have happened.
Marva came back on the line. “I talked to the head of the detail. You ditched them. They have no idea where you are.”
“Then we have a big problem.”
Intermont, North Carolina
The United States
“Give it here; I’ll fix it for you.” Jonah took his sister’s Easy-Bake oven and reattached the door.
They’d become closer than twins during Megan’s long illness. His greatest delight was playing with her, making her laugh.
He and his family lived in a village perched on the side of Peak Mountain in the Blue Ridge range of North Carolina. Their home stood two blocks from the center of town and a block from his father’s—the only—funeral home. Jonah loved the old house, especially the big turret on one corner. It was like living in a castle.
His voice swung out of control as he spoke, from a high squeak, to a rumble that sounded like his dad’s deep bass, and back.
Sweet. Transition is knocking on the door.
The one month in his life when he could use magic to do anything he wanted. He knew it was dangerous, that the magic had to be unique or he would die. But the only death he was thinking about was Megan’s. She was dying from cancer, and he was going to heal her with Transition’s power.
He just didn’t know how.
Megan shrieked, “You sound like a donkey!” His face flamed and he laughed with her.
“Don’t tell Mom and Dad I sounded funny. Make it our secret.” He could have kicked himself. He’d pretty much guaranteed Megan would tell. His parents were already freaked, and this would jack them up even more.
* * *
Late the next day, his dad found him in the backyard twisting slowly on an old swing and thinking about how he could make his magic unique. The sun had dropped behind the pines that surrounded and stretched above the roof of the house. A breeze drenched the yard with their scent.
“Son, your mom and I wish to speak with you about Transition.” Jonah thought his dad sounded like an English teacher, which was funny, since his mom was an English teacher, and she sounded normal. Maybe it was because his dad was an undertaker.
“Geez Dad, again?”
His dad ignored him with a raised eyebrow; he didn’t want to hear any complaints. Jonah followed him to the house and into the kitchen, where his mom was waiting.
The breakfast table sat in a nook jutting from the kitchen into the backyard. Windows surrounded the table on three sides. The pines hugged the house, long needles scratching at the glass, as if the trees wanted in.
A single light hung over the table, reminding him of the old cop show interrogations. His mom and dad sat at the light’s edge, frowning, their shadowed faces like those of the gargoyles hanging on their church.
Talks at the table were serious. He’d learned about Megan’s cancer here.
> He slumped into a chair.
His mom took a deep breath and leaned forward. “Jonah, Megan told us about your voice changing. You understand Transition could start any day, right?”
I wish it would hurry up.
“I got it, Mom. And it’ll last a month, and my eyes’ll turn purple.”
Jonah squirmed in his chair. Anything would be more fun than talking about Transition.
“Lavender,” she corrected. English teachers were picky about words. “When it begins, you’ll stay in the house, where we’ll use the monitoring system to watch over you. One of us will sleep in your room.”
The discussion and his changing voice made Transition real to Jonah for the first time. His mother kept talking, but he was too excited to pay attention. He hoped they couldn’t tell how eager he was.
His dad’s voice rumbled from the shadows, scary, sounding the same as when Jonah messed up. “You are forbidden to use magic. If we ever suspect you might disobey, we’ll give you medicine to make you sleep until Transition is complete. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
His mom said, “Don’t be afraid, Jonah. Remember, we went through Transition, just like you. We’ll help you get through it.”
Their threat to make him sleep scared him more than anything.
So he lied. “I don’t care about magic. I promise I won’t use it. Can I go now?”
* * *
That evening, after Jonah helped his mom clear the dishes and load the dishwasher, he went to his room, closed the door, and sat on the floor in the corner by his desk. The soft yellow glow from his desk lamp was the only light in the room. He reached up and turned it off.
The familiar surroundings receded as he relived the events of the past year. The horror had begun when Megan caught a cold that never seemed to go away.
The pediatrician told his mom not to worry. But Megan kept coughing and whining about being tired. Jonah thought she was just being a brat and teased her when his mom took her back to the doctor.
A couple of weeks later his parents called him to the kitchen.
“Jonah, Megan’s test results are back.” His mom wiped tears from her eyes. “She has cancer. That’s why she’s getting so many colds and is so tired.” She explained cancer and how it affected Megan’s blood. “Megan will be okay, but she needs treatments that will take a long time. The treatments will make her more sick for a while, then she’ll get well.”
His Great-Uncle Harold died from cancer. But Uncle Harold had been ancient and Jonah figured dying from cancer was something that happened to old people.
He was dizzy, his chest pounded like his heart wanted to escape. He burned with guilt for not believing his sister’s complaints.
“Is Megan gonna die?”
His dad wiped his face with his hands and shook his head. “No. We understand this is scary, but your mom and I are confident Megan will get well. The best thing you can do is to be understanding when Megan is grumpy or tired. Spend time with her when she wants. Otherwise, don’t pester her. Okay, buddy?”
Jonah nodded. “Can I go see her now?”
“Sure,” his dad said. “She’s in the back yard.”
Later, Jonah found lots of stuff on the Internet about kids who died from Megan’s kind of cancer. He told his mom and dad what he found. They explained the Internet was wrong because every cancer was different. They said Megan would be fine.
Parents didn’t always tell kids the truth, and he wasn’t sure he believed them.
Megan’s chemotherapy lasted six months. Each month she got sicker, vomiting all the time and staying in bed. Was she dying? What did his mom and dad think?
He never asked—asking would somehow make his fear come true. They kept saying she was going to be fine.
She eventually began getting better and wanted Jonah to play with her more often. She even started talking about going back to school. But something wasn’t right. His parents seemed more worried than ever.
One day he started downstairs and overheard them talking. They were in their office on the first floor, next to the stairs.
He sat on the top step and listened.
“— about as much as we can do.” His dad sounded tired. “What else is there? Dr. Miller’s prognosis is the same as the other two oncologists. They wouldn’t tell us to prepare for the end if they weren’t sure.”
“Dammit, Mark, how can you give up?” His mom was crying and sounded angry. “You always want to believe whatever a damn doctor says. Like they’re God. Are you just going to let her die? If you won’t even try, I’ll do it myself. I’ll find someone who can—”
He’d quit listening, run to his room and thrown himself on the bed, crying. That night he’d begun having nightmares about Megan’s death and what would happen to the family without her. How he’d feel being alone.
“Jonah, you okay? It’s not like you to have your door closed.” His dad’s voice knocked him from his trance. Jonah snapped on the desk light. “Fine, Dad, doing homework.”
“Come on downstairs when you finish. Your ice cream is waiting.”
“K. Tell Megan not to eat it all.” It seemed like the sicker Megan got, the more they got extra desserts.
He whipped through his homework and decided to log in to TransitionWeb before going downstairs. He’d made a bunch of friends on TW—kids who were in Transition, or were about to be, or had finished. He’d learned the ritual required for Transition magic on TW and how he would have to say certain phrases in a particular way.
He was poking around when an alert popped up. Sarah had come online. They’d first connected about a year ago, becoming close friends. She went to school near Darwin, Australia.
Jonah thought Australia, with its koalas, wallaroos, and platypuses must be the sweetest place to live. There had more kangaroos there than North Carolina had squirrels. Most every insect and plant was poisonous. One, a snake called a “fierce,” was the most deadly snake in the world.
One day I’ll visit Sarah.
He invited her into a private chat session.
“hey sarah, whats new in kangaroo land?”
“michael, u wont believe how ur eyes will look! they totally glow!”
“omg! u started? when?”
“just before I came back to school. freaky!”
“lol. do u feel any different?” Other kids had told Jonah their eyes were the only way you could tell, but he wanted to hear what Sarah said.
“nope. everythings the same except my parents are twitchy. so is terrible. course shes always twitchy.” Terrible was the assistant to the headmaster at Sarah’s school.
Best nickname ever.
“u arent going to use magic, right?” He asked, but he knew the answer. She’d told him she was afraid to try magic because she didn’t want to die. Besides, she didn’t need it for anything.
“might need to. still scares me though.”
“why? didnt think you were going to.”
“my roomie has a horrible problem. i promised I wouldnt tell but magic may be the only way to help.”
“ugh. have u figured out how to make it unique?”
“think so.”
“make really really sure you have something different.”
“i know. i know. so u havent started?”
“no. but my voice is changing. maybe soon. i hope.”
“rad! u still think youll do it?”
He’d told her about Megan. He always connected to TW in anonymous mode and deleted his browser caches. Even if his parents checked, they couldn’t learn anything about what he and Sarah talked about. Besides, they never checked.
“yeah. megans worse.”
“shit. Im sorry. life sucks. u still not scared?”
“i dont think about it.”
Can’t tell her how scared I get. She’d think I’m a big pussy.
His mom yelled upstairs. “Last call for ice cream.”
“gotta go. moms yelling at me. connect again in a few
days?”
“k. ttyl.”
He logged off and bounded downstairs.
* * *
The next day after dinner he and his dad settled into the den to watch PBS news, his dad in his favorite chair, Jonah sprawled on the floor. Jonah was a news junkie, the News Hour his favorite show.
He’d been thinking about his conversation with Sarah.
“Dad, does dying hurt?”
Jonah was comfortable with dead people. He had seen plenty of bodies at his dad’s funeral home. He and his friends used to play hide and seek in the casket display room.
Being dead didn’t scare him. Dying—Megan dying—was different.
After what seemed like a long time, his dad said, “Why do you ask, Jonah?”
“Gremma was sick a long time, and I know she didn’t feel good. But I don’t understand what it was like when she actually died. Does dying hurt?”
“Dying itself doesn’t hurt. What a person experiences depends on what causes them to die. Many people, like Gremma, get sleepy as part of their illness and die peacefully. Unfortunately, others may be in pain when they die.”
“How about dying trying to use magic. Does that hurt?”
A much longer pause made Jonah squirm.
“I don’t know, son. There’s a lot we don’t understand about Transition. It’s possible the Power that rules Transition causes pain when magic fails. From what I understand, some children who died trying magic have had terrible expressions on their faces. Others appear calm. I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer for you.”
His dad gazed at him. “Now tell me again why you asked the question.”
“No biggie. I was talking with some kids on TW and got to wondering.”
“I’d prefer you not talk about dying and magic with your buddies on TW. Either change the subject or leave the conversation. Can I have your word?”
“Awww, dad. We were just talking. I’m a kid. We do that.”
“Your word, Jonah.”
“Jeez. Okay, I promise.”
When the news ended, he went upstairs, did his homework, and logged in to TW to catch up with Sarah. He was about to check if she was online when he spotted a posting on his MyTW page from her mom.
The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) Page 23