Orion's Kiss

by Claire Luana

  I punch the address into the maps app on my phone. “Zoe, it’s close. Maybe we should just…stop.”

  “But you said your mom told you to get home pronto.”

  “She’s already pissed. What’s ten more minutes? This might be my only shot, Zo.”

  She sighs, but I see her weakening.

  “Left here!” I say.

  A few turns later, we pull up to Ryan’s house. It looks like a manufactured home set in a clearing of tall trees. The faded green paint is peeling, and the porch is sagging slightly, but there’s a tidy row of flowers lining the yard and a cheerful plaque hanging to the right of the door that reads, “Bless this House.” Clearly, someone cares for this place.

  I turn to Zoe. “Okay, you ring the doorbell and distract her, and I’ll run around back and sneak in.”

  “Distract her how?” Zoe goggles at me.

  “I don’t know, make up some sort of thing for school. You’re fundraising for student body or something. Or say you’re doing a project for history and learning about people’s life in Bend back in the day. Old people love to talk. She’ll probably just be happy to chat with you.”

  “Ohmygod, Mer, you so owe me…”

  But I’m already out of the car and darting into the shadow of the trees lining the property.

  I sneak around back, catching sight of a sliding glass door. Bingo.

  I dash from the trees to the side of the house, my heart in my throat. I hear a faint knock on the door and sense movement inside the house. Atta girl, Zo!

  I know I don’t have much time, so I try the door. It’s unlocked. I slide it open, wincing as it rattles on the hinges, then slip inside.

  I’m in the kitchen-slash-dining room, with linoleum floor, Formica countertops, and dated wood cabinets. But as with the outside, there are touches of love: a vase of tulips on the table, cute little cow figurines that I’m guessing are for salt and pepper. I find myself liking Ryan’s grandma. I wish her grandson weren’t an ancient Greek killer.

  Zoe’s voice, full of forced cheer, drifts from the front door, and I slip into the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. One door is for the bathroom, and I deposit the paper bag of medicine on the counter. Let her think fairies brought it or something. Then I find Ryan’s room.

  It’s intimate, being in someone’s bedroom, especially without them there. It’s a kind of glimpse into their real self, the self they hide from the world. I feel that keenly now as I take in the mussed, flannel sheets, the pile of dirty clothes, the papers on a tiny desk by the window. Ryan has an ancient old desktop computer, yellowed with age. I feel bad. Can that thing even connect to the internet? The walls have a few posters—mostly pages torn from some sort of hunting magazine—of composite bows, like the one Ryan had in his truck. My eyes widen as I take in a bookshelf filled with trophies and ribbons. I take a closer look. They’re for archery. I didn’t even know competitive archery was a thing. But I guess he’s good with that bow. How could he not be, I suppose. His aim is blessed by Zeus himself.

  I chide myself. Time to get down to business. I rifle through the papers, but all I find are assignments and old tests. He doesn’t go to Summit like me, Zoe, and Brandon; he goes to Bend Senior High School. It’s not as good of a school as ours. His test scores seem pretty good, though. I guess like Brandon, he’s actually smart.

  The bookshelf next. There are two photos in frames. One of two boys—maybe twelve—holding up fish with proud smiles. I recognize Brandon’s curly hair and Ryan’s blue eyes. They’ve been friends a long time, I guess. The other is an even younger boy with a man and woman, in front of a Christmas tree. His parents? He said they were killed by a drunk driver. I wonder how old he was. To lose your parents at a young age…

  I put the photo back, shoving down my guilt. It was a bad idea to come here. Zoe was right. The more I get to know him, the harder this gets.

  I try to harden myself. I’ve lost my parents before in a lifetime in ancient Egypt. It sucked, but you can get through it.

  A book on the shelf catches my eye. A library book, probably way overdue. Ancient Greek Mythology. Ding ding ding!

  I know I’m pushing my luck. Zoe can’t still be talking to Ryan’s grandma. I need to get out of here. But I flip through the pages frantically. I land on a section that’s been highlighted. The myth of Orion. “Gotcha,” I say. This is it. Proof that he knows who he is. Or at least suspects.

  Another knock sounds in the background, and I freeze. Another knock? What the hell? I look out the window of Ryan’s room and see the tail end of a vehicle. Not Zoe’s Volvo. A Deschutes County Sheriff’s car.

  I hiss and press myself against the wall. Shit.

  I hear a man’s voice from the front door. The name “Deputy Romano.” My eyes widen. Double shit.

  Chapter 12

  My thoughts are jumbled and panicked, spinning every which way. But there are two that come through strongest.

  One: Deputy Romano is here. Two: I need to get the hell out of here—stat.

  What happened to Zoe? Was she on the front stoop when the deputy arrived? But no, the deputy knocked on the door. Which meant Zoe had already finished talking to Ryan’s grandma. I pray that the deputy didn’t see her.

  Why is he here? Is Ryan somehow a suspect in the hit-and-run accident that killed my sister? I don’t understand how that can be. His truck is still safely parked at Zoe’s cabin. I can’t think of anything else that would clue them in.

  All these thoughts fly through my mind in a blink, but none of it really matters. The only thing that matters right now is getting out of this house.

  I stand pressed against the wall of Ryan’s room with my ears perked, listening to the muffled conversation in the living room.

  I need to go—now. I start to dart into the kitchen and make a run for it when I hear Ryan’s grandmother offer Deputy Romano some tea. I spin and leap back into the bedroom, landing as softly as I can on the thin carpet. My breath is coming in fast bursts. I think I might be hyperventilating. Is this what hyperventilating feels like?

  “No, thank you,” the deputy says.

  I listen to see if Grandma is planning on getting herself something from the kitchen. But it seems that they’ve settled into the living room. It’s now or never.

  I run fast and low up towards the kitchen. I can’t even look at them as I head through the hallway, from which there’s a clear view from the living room. I have this insane thought that if I don’t look at them, they won’t look at me. It must take fewer than ten seconds, but my bid for freedom feels like an eternity. I close the sliding glass door gingerly and press myself against the side of the house, listening for any sign that my flight has been noticed. Not that I can hear much over the roaring of my pulse in my eardrums.

  But no one comes out, not Deputy Romano with this gun drawn or poor Ryan’s grandma with a concerned expression. It seems I made a successful escape.

  I creep around the side of the house, chewing on my lip.

  Zoe’s car is nowhere to be found. She must have backed out of the driveway, not wanting to draw suspicion by lingering. Smart girl. I hope she’s parked somewhere nearby.

  I decide not to run up the driveway, as I think it’s visible from the living room. In one quick jolt of speed that would make any four-hundred-meter sprinter proud, I make for the tree line, darting through ferns and bushes into the underbrush. I flatten myself against a tree trunk, peering around to see if there’s any movement. The house looks quiet.

  I heave a shaky sigh of relief and begin skirting the edge of the trees, making my way back up the driveway to the main road.

  Zoe’s car is parked on the shoulder, a few hundred yards up the road. I run for it and when I open the door to slide into the passenger side, Zoe lets out a screech, her hand flying onto her chest.

  “Mer,” she says, “you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were a goner in there.”

  “Me too,” I say, my laughter belying my nervousness. Holy crap,
that was close. “Well, that clinches it. I’m officially not cut out to be a spy.”

  “Right?! I thought I was going to pee my pants up there just asking her if she wanted to donate to the Summit High track team.”

  “You didn’t.” I laugh.

  “She’s so sweet. She donated five bucks!” Zoe says, putting the car into drive and hitting the gas. “I stuck it in her mailbox. Seems like they need it more than us.”

  I shake my head, amazed we just pulled that off.

  “What’s that?” Zoe asks, nodding at me. I’d forgotten the book on Greek mythology was still in my hand. “I found it in Ryan’s room. The parts on Orion are highlighted.” I look at her meaningfully.

  She whistles. “Sounds like he has some explaining to do.”

  “Don’t ask him about it until I get back,” I say. I still have to go home, and Zoe still has to go back and feed Ryan. “I’ll try to come in the morning.”

  She nods. “You’re the boss.”

  When we arrive at my house I hop out of Zoe’s car and pull my bike off the rack. “Thank you, Zoe,” I say through her unrolled window.

  She gives me a little salute.

  I enter through the side door to the garage and drop my bike off. When I come into the living room, both my parents are sitting there at the counter waiting for me, mostly-empty wine glasses in front of them. Crap.

  “Hi,” I say lamely. My dad adjusts his dark-rimmed glasses and looks to my mom with what I imagine is the look that means: ‘Should you take this one or will I?’ I was in for it.

  Turns out they took turns. An hour later, I had been thoroughly lectured by both my parents on the perils of skipping practice, failing to live up to your commitments, and their general disappointment with me as a human being and daughter. I promised never to do it again and professed my undying loyalty to them.

  They fed me leftover lasagna and limp salad from one of those prepackaged bags, and by my mom’s furrowed brow, I could tell she was thinking about the accident.

  “I’m fine,” I insist as I put my plate in the dishwasher. Of course this is a lie. I’m so far from fine. But not for the reasons she thinks.

  She purses her lips. “Skipping practice isn’t like you.” Her tone has softened from the drill sergeant persona she adopted earlier. “Neither is being late. We’re here to talk about whatever you need.”

  “I know,” I say. “Thanks. Feeling kind of tired, though. I’m gonna call it a night.”

  “What’s this?” she asks, spinning around the book on Greek mythology that I deposited on the countertop. “Bend High School library? Who do you know that goes there?”

  “Just a friend of Zoe’s,” I manage, feeling my web of lies tightening around me. Poor Zoe. I was pulling her deeper and deeper into this mess.

  “You doing a project?” my mom asks.

  “Could say that,” I reply. I put my hand out and she hands the book to me reluctantly. “Night,” I say, heading upstairs. “Night, Dad!” I call. He’s been excused from the remainder of the parental lecture and is back in his study.

  “Night, jelly bean,” he calls to me, my stupid nickname from when I was five. I still kinda like it, though. But only when Dad says it.

  Once in my room, I sag against my door, suddenly exhausted. Today has felt like ten days.

  I sit on my bed and flip through the mythology book. There’s more highlighting on the one page that deals with the Pleiades. There’s neat handwriting in the margin and I squint to make it out. It must be Ryan’s. I don’t know why it matters to me what his handwriting looks like, but I find myself filing away the detail. Another piece of the puzzle that is Ryan Kearney. “What about the seventh? Lost sister?” it reads. He’s talking about me. Does it mean he’s been looking for me? But why? To kill me, like the others?

  I slam the book shut. I’m having such a hard time reconciling the Orion I knew in past lives with this Ryan. He doesn’t seem like a murderer, and it unsettles me. It doesn’t add up. Electra’s death last night was an accident, I believe that. Ryan had a seizure while driving. I mean, he shouldn’t have been driving, but I get it. It’s hard to give up your freedom, especially when someone depends on you. Were deaths in prior lifetimes accidents, too? I think of him in the alley of Istanbul with his scalpel, his eyes gleaming in the dark. A shiver goes through me. No, they couldn’t all have been accidents. There’s something corrupt in his soul. Maybe it just hasn’t come out yet in this lifetime.

  I don’t think I’ll be able to get a lick of sleep that night, but somehow my eyes grow heavy, and I’m out.

  I have a dream. Not a dream—but a vision. Sometimes I’m awake when they come on, but when I’m asleep, I can still tell. My visions have a different quality than regular dreams. The colors are richer, and every sensation is stronger. I can feel the texture of the notebook in my hand, the gentle breeze toying with my hair. I can smell fresh-cut grass and the sweetness of flowers.

  I look around, blinking in the sun. I’m in a backyard. A tidy craftsman sits above us surrounded by green lawn, raised boxes filled with tiny shoots of vegetables nestled against its foundation. I pan slowly, trying to get my bearings. The backyard borders a swiftly-moving river—tall trees across the water bow gracefully in the wind.

  Then I see Ryan. He turns and looks at me, smiling. I realize I’ve never seen his smile in real life, but somehow my vision knows. It’s devastating—lighting up his whole face. He waves and I hurry towards him. He’s standing on the edge of a dock. One hand is in the pocket of his jeans, the other adjusting his sunglasses.

  He looks down at something in the water below.

  “What is it?” I ask when I reach him.

  “Look,” he says, putting his free hand on my back. There’s a familiarity between us that alarms me, even as it feels right.

  I looked down into the cyan water, through the sparkling sunlight.

  That’s when I see her. Floating. Her blonde hair gently undulating with the lapping of the water.

  It’s Alcyone. My middle sister.

  And she’s dead.

  Chapter 13

  I surge into consciousness, gasping for air. Goosebumps pebble my skin; I’ve broken out in a cold sweat. Watery morning light slants through my blinds. It’s just after dawn. My hands shake and I ball them in my comforter to keep them still.

  I thought I would have more time. Sometimes years pass between visions—between my sisters’ deaths. It’s so soon. Electra died just two days ago. I don’t know when this vision will come true—it might stay with me for months before she finally dies. But it will come true. They always do.

  I scrub my face with my clammy hands, trying to banish the image of her pale skin translucent under the water. This was the warning I needed. The kick in the ass I didn’t realize I’d been waiting for. My resolve to do what was necessary had been slipping as I got to know Ryan. Talking to him, learning about his life, seeing photos of his friends, his family. These were things I had never done in my past lifetimes. They were things I shouldn’t have done this time.

  “Idiot,” I hiss at myself, throwing off the covers.

  I should have shot him the moment I saw him. My sister died anyway—calling 911 had done nothing to help her. It had only set this whole mess in motion. Gotten Zoe involved. Made me doubt myself.

  I trudge down the hall to the bathroom. I turn on the water and step into the shower, letting the heat scald me and wash away some of the punch of the vision. My mind races as I try to figure out my next move. I need to go over there this morning. I need to end it.

  I finish showering and turn off the water, wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of school. Especially with Mom watching me like a hawk after I missed practice yesterday. But I told her I was sick…I can work with that.

  I throw on my baggy Summit track sweats and an old T-shirt and head downstairs. Dad’s in the kitchen, getting his lunch together. He wears olive khakis and a navy blue quarter-zip sweater. His short brown hair
is the same color as mine, his lean, athletic form the same as mine too. I know it’s not fair to Mom, and I wouldn’t admit it even under threat of torture, but Dad’s my favorite. We just…understand each other.

  “Morning, jelly bean,” he says. “You’re up early.”

  “Dad, I just threw up,” I say. “I think I have the flu or something.” I pray he buys it. I suck at lying.

  His brow furrows and he comes around the island, putting his hand on my forehead. I don’t know why parents think the hand on the forehead is some sort of medical crystal ball. But it seems to be their go-to move. “You don’t feel warm,” he says. “But I suppose missing one day won’t hurt. Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

  I nod wearily, donning my most pathetic expression.

  He ruffles my hair. “I’ll tell your mom you’re staying home. Rest up and kick this bug.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I move slowly, shuffling back up the stairs. My heart is racing as I tuck myself back into bed. The truth is, I do feel nauseous. My gut is twisting at the thought of what I’m going to have to do.

  A few minutes later, my mom looks into my room. I pretend to be asleep. She clucks her tongue and closes the door. Mom would’ve pushed me harder to go to school; Dad’s more of a softie. But now that he said it was okay for me to stay home, Mom’s not going to contradict him. A girl learns a thing or two in her years. When the garage door finally opens and shuts, I spring out of bed like a coiled wire.

  I touch the book on my desk briefly, my fingers lingering on the cover. I pull on my jeans, my favorite purple plaid shirt, and my Chuck Taylors. I grab my fleece, zipping it up. I realize in a moment of panic that my bracelet is gone. The only evidence of its absence is the welt where Ryan ripped it off me when we were grappling for the Taser. I feel unsettled without it—unlucky. I banish the thought. I’ll have it back within the hour.

  Orion and I have been dancing around this showdown for centuries. I just need to get it over with.