Shimmer: A Riley Bloom Book

by Alyson Noel

  And if I’d still had a heart beating inside me, that would’ve been the moment when it lifted and skipped. Released from the weighty scene I’d watched only a moment earlier, I felt lighter, brighter, sure that I was about to see some much-needed justice.

  The first one to go was that sadistic plantation owner. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t raise my fist in the air and pump it with joy.

  But it wasn’t long before my joy turned to something else entirely, when Prince Kanta placed his hand over mine and slowly lowered it back to my side, silently nodding toward the scene that played next.

  The one of the master’s daughter—who went just after her dad.

  A girl I figured to be around the same age as me.

  A girl with curly brown hair, deep hazel eyes, a long, elegant nose, an overly embellished dress with a big yellow bow that slashed across the middle, and a small black dog by her side.

  A girl I immediately recognized as Rebecca.

  11

  When I opened my eyes, I found myself positioned in a way that left me staring directly at Prince Kanta’s calloused bare feet. My cheek pressed hard against the woven-grass mat, my body still toppled on its side.

  And that’s when I realized that despite all the things I’d just seen, I hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

  Hadn’t stepped foot off the beach, or even out of his hut for that matter.

  The tea was the journey.

  I scrambled to get myself together, rearranging my limbs until I was upright again. Gazing at Prince Kanta who sat right before me, as a mess of conflicting emotions ran amok in my head.

  I was speechless.

  Completely gobsmacked and speechless.

  Which, if you’ve followed me to this point, then you know is not exactly a feeling I’m used to.

  But to Prince Kanta’s credit, it’s not like he tried to rush me. In fact, he seemed pretty content to just remain right there on his pillow, legs crossed, feet propped up on his knees, as he calmly observed the ceaseless lull and sway of the sea. Allowing me all the time I could possibly need to make some kind of sense out of all the horrible things I’d just seen.

  “So Rebecca haunts the earth plane because she was murdered?” I ventured, figuring I had to start somewhere and that was as good a place as any. “And if so, is that why you haunt it too?”

  He faced me, observing me with that infinite gaze of his. Holding the look for so long that I started to grow a little antsy, a little uneasy, until he finally said, “Not exactly.”

  I scrunched my brow up under my bangs and waited for him to elaborate in some way. But when he didn’t, when he just continued to sit there, I decided to press full speed ahead and say, “So, I guess I really don’t get it then. I mean, why is she here? What’s the point of the bubble and … and all the rest?” I winced at the way my voice cracked in the middle, knowing it revealed the full extent of my desperation to make some kind of sense of it.

  Back on my very first assignment as a Soul Catcher, it didn’t take long to learn that knowing a ghost’s motivations, their reasons for lingering behind on the earth plane, could only help when it came time to dealing with them. And seeing how Rebecca had trapped my friends, well, I was more than a little eager to learn just what it was that motivated her.

  So I waited. Waited for what felt like a ridiculously long stretch of the most agonizing silence. Waited until Prince Kanta finally looked at me and said, “Rebecca haunts the earth plane because she is angry. Very, very angry. And while it’s true that her anger is a result of her murder, the murder itself is not what keeps her bound here. The anger alone is responsible for that.”

  Okay, on one level I got it, but on the other, I really didn’t. And knowing he wasn’t the type to just give away the answers, that he pretty much insisted I work for them, I said, “So, is that why you stay behind too? Because you’re also angry about what happened to you?”

  I clutched my hands in my lap, nervously entwining my fingers. Seeing the way his face transitioned through a variety of expressions, sure I’d somehow insulted him, overstepped some sort of unseen boundary, when he did pretty much the last thing I expected.

  He smiled.

  Okay, maybe it was more of a half smile.

  But still, his cheeks widened, his lips lifted and curled at the sides, just enough to encourage those twin dimples to spring into view. It was all right there before me—the full-on beginnings of what could’ve resulted in a truly lovely grin—but then he dropped that smile so quickly I was left wondering if it really had occurred.

  “In the beginning, I was kept here by my anger, yes.” He nodded, face solemn and serious once again. “But no longer.”

  I sat with his words, tossing them around in my head, going over them carefully, repeating them silently again and again. But despite all my efforts, despite my analyzing as best I could, I was still no closer to understanding just about anything he’d said.

  Obviously, I got the part about anger being the glue that bound Rebecca here and that used to bind him here as well, and bippidy blah blah. I mean, duh, it’s not like I’m stupid. But what I didn’t get was that if he was no longer angry, if he was no longer bound to the earth plane in that particular way, then why stay? Why hang on to such a horrifying past, when it was just as easy to move on to something else—something better than what he currently had?

  Figuring I’d take one last stab at offering my services, I looked at him and said, “So, if you’ve moved past your anger, then why not cross the bridge already? I mean, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but getting people to the other side is pretty much my specialty.”

  I couldn’t help but smile when I said it; I felt so empowered by the words. Reminded that I had a purpose, one that I was actually good at, and for a moment anyway, it lessened some of the guilt I had for getting my friends trapped.

  But Prince Kanta would have none of it, and if he was impressed by my area of expertise, well, let’s just say he did a pretty good job of hiding it from me.

  Apparently, he had no interest in the bridge, the Here & Now, or anything of the sort. He seemed perfectly content just making do with the funky grass hut, the shabby clothes, and the freaky tea.

  “I cannot be free until my brothers and sisters are also free.” The words, simple, crisp, spoken in an accent that was really starting to grow on me. And yet I couldn’t help but feel as though they weren’t quite what they first seemed.

  It was as though he was speaking in riddles.

  As though he was hiding something from me.

  And that’s pretty much all it took to ignite my suspicions again.

  “Too many remain stuck here. I cannot enjoy my release until they are also released,” he added, though the words didn’t do much to appease me.

  It’s like, if he was so reluctant to move on, then fine, whatever, his choice. I mean, maybe Bodhi was right—maybe I should just stick with the jobs the Council assigned, and ignore all the other lingering souls I happened to come across.

  All I knew for sure was that for every minute I spent in that hut talking nonsense with the prince and viewing scenes that had nothing to do with me, I lost another sixty seconds during which I could’ve been helping my friends.

  I rose to my feet, my voice agitated, a little bit angry even, when I stared right at Prince Kanta and said, “Listen, excuse me for saying so, but I don’t really get why you couldn’t have just told me all that from the start. I mean, why all this?” I waved my arm before me. “Why drag me out here to drink your freaky tea, when you could’ve just summarized the whole thing back in the graveyard?” I glared, knowing my emotions were starting to get the best of me, but at that moment, I didn’t really care. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t know that my friends are trapped and in desperate need of my help, and yet, instead of offering the help that you promised, you chose to drag me out here just so you could totally waste my time.” I shook my head and made for the doorway, not even bothering to look over
my shoulder when I said, “Listen, if you ever feel like leaving this place, let me know. I’ll see if there’s room in my schedule.”

  I had every intention of bolting, had placed one foot firmly outside of that hut, but I was soon stopped by his voice when he said, “The tea is called memory tea.”

  I paused, glancing over my shoulder to find him shooting me a pointed look.

  “And you are right, I could have just told you the story. That would have been easy enough. But I chose the tea for a reason. I wanted you to observe the story on your own, rather than to hear my possibly biased version. I also could have immersed you in the scene and let you experience it directly, but I thought it too horrific, too frightening for a child your age. Besides, that sort of thing is more Rebecca’s domain.”

  I narrowed my eyes into slits. Narrowed my eyes till I could just barely make out the tall, dark outline of him. And even though I’m sure his words made all the sense in the world to his ears—to mine, not so much.

  It was just another riddle.

  More craftily worded nonsense that made me doubt him even more.

  I folded my arms across my chest, screwed my lips to the side, and took another step forward. Stopped again by the sound of his voice when he said, “Words have the power to harm or heal, Riley. They can be used to paint many emotional landscapes. And they are often influenced, if not biased, by the speaker. It was necessary for you to experience the story with your own eyes, to view it through your own filter, your own set of biases and prejudices, and to not be influenced by mine. There is nothing like being a true witness to something to gain your own unique understanding of it. So tell me, Riley, were you not moved by what you saw? I’m curious to hear your perception of it.”

  I was more than ready to bolt, eager to get back to that snow globe from hell where Bodhi and Buttercup were in desperate need of my help. But just like before, the one thing I wanted most at that moment happened to be in direct opposition to the one thing I did.

  Instead of leaving, instead of bidding adios to the prince, I turned, turned until I was looking right at him again, and tried to explain the confusing array of emotions I’d felt—emotions I would happily choose to never experience again. But now that I’d felt them, now that those awful scenes had entered my mind, I knew there was no getting rid of them.

  Later, they might get tucked away somewhere dark and not often visited, but it’s not like they’d ever really vanish completely. It’s not like they’d ever disappear.

  Once introduced, they’d stay with me forever.

  There was no emotional dumping ground for that sort of thing.

  And before I knew it, I was back in the hut. Leaning against one of the bamboo sticks that held up the roof, avoiding his gaze as I searched for a way to explain. Part of me wanting to say something sassy, snarky—the kind of thing my mom refers to as mouthy.

  I mean, how did he think I perceived what I’d seen? How would any sane person—either living or dead—perceive it?

  The words practically leapt off my tongue, begging to be heard, but then, when I looked at him again, when my blue eyes stared into his dark brown ones, well, those words disappeared as a whole string of new ones jumped into their place.

  “At first, I was amazed that you were really a prince. I thought for sure you lied about that.” I snuck a quick peek at him, relieved to see that he looked a lot closer to amused than offended, which I took as a sign to continue. “I felt awful when you lost everything, and even worse when I saw the beatings you suffered. And when the revolt began, well, I was seriously ready to cheer, but then…” I hesitated, seeing the way he urged me on with his rising brow and nodding head. “But then, it all started to seem like some horrible cycle of violence. Especially when I realized that the slaves were revolting so they could take over and bring in a whole new set of slaves. And it just seemed so pointless. Like a battle no one could ever truly win. An endless cycle of abuse, and it left me really sad.”

  He half smiled again. Reminding me of the way the sun would peek out from the clouds on an overcast day on the earth plane, just long enough to bestow a brief hint of warmth before disappearing again and turning everything gray.

  And that’s pretty much the exact moment when my second goal was added.

  After making sure that Bodhi and Buttercup were freed from Rebecca’s trap, I was determined to see the prince smile for real.

  Watching as he rose quickly to his feet and said, “You are right. It is a vicious cycle indeed. During my reign as prince, I kept my own set of slaves until my castle was invaded and I was sold as a slave and sent here—only to revolt against my master with the hope of taking over the island and enslaving others in the same way I’d been.” He shook his head and took his time in looking me over. “I have seen both sides of this madness, and now, after sharing that with you, and because of your deep understanding, you are ready to make the journey inside Rebecca’s world.”

  12

  “You will never succeed with such a method. You are going about it all wrong.”

  We were standing just outside of the bubble—

  No, scratch that.

  The truth is Prince Kanta was standing just outside the bubble while I was pressed up against it, pounding and kicking the smooth, glossy exterior with every bit of my (undeniably measly) strength.

  I glanced over my shoulder, not even trying to hide my annoyance. “Oh, yeah? So why don’t you come over and help instead of just standing there watching me fail. Why don’t you show me how it’s done, if you know so much?”

  But the prince made no move to help. He just remained right where he was. Neither flinching nor wincing—not reacting to my tone or my words in any way, shape, or form. In fact, he was so still and serious, I actually wondered if he’d heard me. Though I’d yelled it so loudly, I was pretty sure it’d been impossible to miss.

  I’d just turned back to the globe and was about to start pounding again when he said, “You will never succeed with resistance, Riley. In this case, as in most cases, resistance just begets more resistance. Or, in other words, what you resist—persists. Acceptance is the only way.”

  Oh, brother.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head, annoyed to the point where I no longer cared if he saw.

  As far as I was concerned, it was just a whole lot of psychobabble, more crazy talk coming right up, and it was getting me nowhere. For whatever reason, rather than actually helping me, he’d chosen to distract me, annoy me, and just generally waste my time instead. And once again, I’d found that I’d pretty much reached my limit with him.

  I narrowed my gaze, glaring at him in such a way that I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if great plumes of smoke shot out from my nose and my ears. My voice harsh, edgy, making absolutely no further attempt at good manners, little niceties, or the smallest of pleasantries, when I said, “Listen, maybe you mean well, maybe you don’t, only you know for sure. But either way, I think you need to know that I’m pretty much done listening to these crazy philosophical riddles that I doubt even you understand.” I pushed my long, side-swept bangs off my face, tried to tuck them back behind my ears, but being just a smidgen too short, they fell right back into my eyes, so I decided to leave them there. “So either you help me break into this bubble so I can free my friends, or—”

  Our eyes met.

  “Or you … don’t.” I lifted my shoulders, knowing that as far as threats went, it was a pretty pathetic one, but still, at that moment, it was the best I could do. “Either way, I have no time to waste, so if you don’t mind—”

  I returned to the bubble, my fist rising high above my head, just about to bring it back down and smash it hard against the side, when it was caught in midair by the prince.

  His fingers circled my wrist, as his eyes bore into mine. Then slowly, with no cooperation on my part, he unfolded my fingers, one at a time. Straightening and spreading them as he lowered my palm and gently placed it onto the bubble until it was fl
ush against the surface, his face calm, eyes kind, softly cooing in a way that strangely sent a soothing wave of calm coursing through me.

  “Shhh…” He looked at me. “You must remain quiet, peaceful, and still. You must accept the situation you now find yourself in. All of this fighting—all of this resistance—is only making it worse. Rebecca thrives on anger. It is the fuel that fires her world. And you, Miss Riley Bloom, are only aiding her.” He paused for a moment, long enough to make sure I was listening, before he continued. “Your friends are trapped, there is no getting around that. But rather than fighting what is, you must first learn to accept it. Only then will you clear a path in your mind that will lead you to the solution.”

  I looked at him, looked right into those deep, mysterious eyes, and I started to say: What?

  Started to say: Are you crazy? Why should I even think about accepting such a horrible thing—when I have to do whatever it takes to stop it?

  But before I could get to any of that, the strangest thing happened.

  The bubble’s surface, the reflective, rounded part that lay just under my fingers, began to soften and give just the tiniest bit.

  I looked at Prince Kanta, my eyes wide, jaw practically dropped to my knees, seeing him nod, press his finger briefly to his lips, and then motion for me to place my other hand just beside it.

  So I did.

  And the same thing happened again.

  The surface continuing to conform and give as he said, “Rather than fighting the bubble, you must learn to accept it.” He moved into place, positioning himself right next to me and pressing his palms against it in the same way I did. “Are you familiar with the cornstarch-and-water experiment?”

  I looked at him, my voice high-pitched and screechy as I blurted, “Oobleck!” Remembering the day at summer camp when the counselors separated us all into small groups, then handed us each a bowl filled with a pile of cornstarch and water they’d mixed together, and how surprised I was when they told us to make a fist and pound on it as hard as we could, only to find my fist bouncing right back. It was impossible to penetrate, or at least not by force anyway. “If you try to force your way into the mix by pounding it or jabbing it, it doesn’t work. It … resists.” My eyes grew wide as I gazed at him, suddenly understanding what he’d been trying to tell me all along. “But if you press slowly and gently—”