Chapter One
three years later...
Nora Sparrow clutched her books to her chest and did her best to hide behind her hair as she walked into art class. She hated art class. She was required to take it. Everyone was. But she couldn’t produce any actual art. She’d learned that lesson well enough three years ago when she was twelve. She would never forget the lightning bolt from the sky, the way Owen had cried out in pain. Not to mention the fact that Owen’d had to finagle something to get them moved out of that foster home immediately afterward, considering that everyone had seen her art and kept asking questions about it. It wasn’t worth it.
They’d put her in freshman art last year, no matter how hard she’d protested. And then she’d spent an entire year doing nothing. She got a zero for the whole year. Her art teacher had informed her, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, that Nora was the first student in the teacher’s career to get such a low grade in art.
The art room didn’t have desks, just several long tables with six chairs at each of them. Nora always sat in the back at a table alone. She was lucky the art class was small enough that she didn’t have to share a table with anyone. She came into class every day and put her head down. She was in her second quarter of the same freshman art class this year—her sophomore year—and she was making a zero yet again. At this rate, she wasn’t going to graduate high school. It was ridiculous. And trying to have a conversation with the school counselor or her social worker or her foster mother about it was worthless. They didn’t understand. She couldn’t tell them the truth, or they’d think she was crazy. Sometimes Nora thought she was.
Nora peered through strands of her red hair as she made her way back to the table she usually sat at. She liked to keep her hair in her face. She felt like it meant people didn’t really have to look at her. And Nora often wished she could simply be invisible.
After sweeping several thumbtacks off her chair and hearing the jocks sigh in disappointment that she hadn’t actually sat on them, Nora settled in her chair and buried her head in her arms. Art wasn’t the only class that she had to be careful about being creative in, but it was the only class she took that was completely about creativity. She had to avoid some assignments in English class or history occasionally. She had to make sure she chose electives carefully. Home ec was out—too many chances to cook or sew creatively. Gym was fine, but she hated gym. Still, it usually ended up on her schedule. Foreign languages were fine. She filled in the rest of her schedule with study halls and teacher assistant classes. The French teacher really liked her.
And overall, it was easier now that she was in high school. As a first grader, her teachers had been so concerned when she wouldn’t color in class.
The tardy bell rang, and her art teacher closed the door to the classroom, coming inside from the hall. “You guys are supposed to be finishing up your perspective drawings,” she said. “Get to work.”
Other students in the class pulled out sketchpads or went to get charcoal from the art supplies cabinet. Nora just kept her head down. She could hear the clacking of the art teacher’s shoes as she approached Nora’s table.
“Nora,” said the teacher, “I’ve told you before you can’t sleep in class.”
Nora raised her head defiantly, glaring at the teacher.
The teacher sat down in a chair next to Nora. She smiled.
Oh great. This was worse than when they were mean. Nora looked away.
“I was talking to Mrs. Fields yesterday,” said the teacher. Mrs. Fields was the French teacher, the one that liked Nora.
Nora shrugged. “So?”
“She says you doodle in her class sometimes. She says she’s seen you do it, and you always hide whatever it is you’re drawing.”
Note to self, thought Nora. Stop drawing in French class. She hadn’t thought anyone noticed, or she never would have done it.
“Why don’t you try drawing something in here?” said the teacher. She was pleading with Nora. “You don’t have to be Michaelangelo to get a good grade in this class, you know. But if you won’t try at all, how am I supposed to reward you? You have to make an effort.”
Nora shrugged. Often, if she didn’t speak to teachers too much, they gave up.
The teacher’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know what to do with you. You’re failing art for the second year in a row, and it’s only because you won’t do anything.”
“I’m not a creative person, okay?” Nora kept her voice sullen. Teachers hated it when you were sullen.
The teacher got up out of the chair. “Fine with me.” She turned away. “No one can say I haven’t tried,” she muttered.
It was that part that always annoyed Nora. That teachers somehow thought it had something to do with them. It didn’t. Nora made her own decisions. The teachers had nothing to do with them.
Overhead, the classroom speaker crackled. “Mrs. Flint?”
“Yes?” replied the art teacher, looking up at the ceiling as if she was actually talking to someone up there.
“Can you send Nora Sparrow to the office for dismissal?”
Dismissal? Her? That made no sense. There was no way either of her foster parents would pick her up early from school. What was going on here?
The teacher turned to Nora. “Did you hear that?”
Nora nodded. She gathered up her books and started to the front of the classroom. Something struck her on the back of the head. She turned, noticing a ball of paper on the floor.
The jocks were snickering.
“Jordan!” admonished the teacher.
“What?” said Jordan, who was sitting at the jock table, jeering. “I didn’t do anything.”
The teacher simply shook her head.
Nora fixed Jordan with the cruelest glare she could manage. Then she swept out of the room. She stalked up the hall, feeling angry about everything. It wasn’t like she didn’t want to draw. She loved to draw. She’d never gotten the chance to paint, but she was sure she’d love that too. She loved to write poems and make up songs and put together outfits and think up dance moves. But she wasn’t allowed to do any of those things. It made her nuts. If she didn’t have to hide everything, maybe she wouldn’t be a freak. Maybe stupid idiots like Jordan wouldn’t put tacks on her seat or throw things at her or call her Spare-Ribs in the hall. That was an oh-so-witty play on her last name—Sparrow. She supposed they also said it because she was so darned skinny, but that wasn’t her fault either. She barely got fed in her current foster home. There were three other foster kids, and food always seemed scarce.
She stopped at her locker to get her coat and bag. Why was she being dismissed? Who was here to pick her up? The school had strict rules that said that only parents could pick up children.
She rounded the corner to the main office. Outside, the sky was gray and white. It was calling for snow, even though it didn’t usually snow in December, even this close to the holidays. She’d heard buzz from other students, who apparently hoped it would snow enough to get them out of school all the way until Christmas. They were so hopeful. Such idiots. They didn’t know what the world really was—an empty hollow space that drowned dreams.
Nora glowered as she entered the office.
And there he was. Owen.
So he was back. He’d disappeared for over three months this time. And he was back. She watched him, leaning over the counter and talking to the office secretaries, an easy grin on his face. It was so easy for him to convince people to do what he wanted. His abilities didn’t call up purple lightning in the sky to strike him dead. She should have figured it was Owen. He could charm anyone into doing what he wanted, even the office into letting her go home early.
Truthfully, she hadn’t been sure that he’d come back at all.
His eyes lit up when he saw her. Owen had this unsettling beauty to him. He was a slender boy-man with dusky olive skin and dark hair that curled at the ends. But his eyes were a startling blue color, giving him an otherworldl
y look. Which she guessed was warranted, all things considered.
She glared at him. He wasn’t going to smile at her and make it all better. Not this time. They weren’t kids anymore. This whole disappearing act was getting old.
If Owen noticed that she was pissed at him, he didn’t let on. He strode over to her, arms wide, and engulfed her in a huge hug. “It’s so good to see you,” he whispered in her ear.
In spite of herself, his silken voice made her melt a little.
Releasing her, he gave the secretaries a careless wave. “Thanks, Mindy. Jennifer.”
Of course he knew their names.
“Oh, no problem,” said one of the secretaries, smiling at him adoringly. “Our pleasure.”
“You two have a happy holiday,” Owen said and ushered Nora out of the school, to the parking lot, and into a beat-up blue Chevy. He was always somehow acquiring cars. Nora half-wondered if he stole them. Maybe he just charmed the owners out of wanting them. She wouldn’t put either past him.
Owen opened the passenger side door for her with flourish. She rolled her eyes at him and got in.
He walked around to his side of the car and let himself in. He settled behind the steering wheel. “You’re mad.”
Nora shrugged. Shrugging worked on other people besides teachers too.
Owen put the key in the ignition of the car and started it. “I have good news.”
The sounds of The Sex Pistols roared out of the stereo.
Nora reached over and turned the music down. “You said you’d be gone a week. It’s been three months.”
Owen pulled the car out of its parking space. “Things got complicated.”
Typical. With Owen, things always got complicated.
He glanced over at her, giving her one of his dazzling smiles. “Oh, come on, Nora. It’s almost Christmas. How about some peace on earth, huh?”
She turned away from him, looking out the window at the bare tree limbs against the gray sky. Winter was depressing. Barren. Maybe if it did snow, things would seem a little bit magical again, like they had when she was a little girl, and she and Owen had camped out in that abandoned house in the woods, huddled around fires they built, wrapped in blankets. Before child services had found them. Before they were always getting separated. Maybe if things were like that again, she’d believe him when he told her he was going to get her back home. Not that the home Owen told her about was a place she even really remembered.
“Peace in this car?” Owen said.
Nora was never sure if the few snatches of pictures she had of home were from her own memory or from her visualizing when Owen had told her stories. She knew there was something wrong with her. She believed that she and Owen were different. But she didn’t know if she believed they’d ever be able to get back to Helicon. Sometimes, she didn’t know if she even believed Helicon existed.
The car slowed and pulled to a stop. Owen had pulled the car into a dirt road in the woods. There was a chain drawn over the road, a battered sign hanging from the center reading, “No Trespassing.”
Nora turned to him. “Where are we?”
He turned off the car and opened the door. “Walk with me. I’ll show you.”
Sighing, Nora got out of the car. She shoved her hands in her pockets and burrowed into her coat against the cold. Owen stepped over the chain blocking the road. Nora did the same and trudged after him, following him into the woods.
“Come on,” Owen threw over his shoulder, and she hurried to catch up to him.
They walked until the road bent, and Nora could barely see the car through the naked tree trunks of the woods. Then they emerged into a clearing. There was an old barn squatting amongst long strands of dead grass. Several rusty cars and an ancient tractor littered the ground in front of it. The wind whistled through the trees and chilled Nora. She shivered. “It’s cold, Owen.”
He turned to her, brushing her hair away from her face. His voice was soft. “Hey. I’m sorry I was gone so long.”
She chewed on her lip and moved away from his touch. He wasn’t allowed to disappear like that and then just show up and act like everything was the same. She couldn’t handle it anymore.
Owen closed the distance between them, his arms going around her, pulling her close. He kissed her.
She shut her eyes, felt his soft lips against hers, but when he tried to put his tongue in her mouth, she pulled away. “Where are we? Why are we here?”
Owen reached for her. “Don’t be mad, Nora.”
“It’s cold,” she said again.
He pointed at the barn. “This is where we do it.”
“Do what?”
“A ritual,” he said. “One I’ve been hunting down while I’ve been gone. I had a hard time finding the people I needed to talk to. But I’ve figured it out now, and I know we can do it. This is a remote enough place that no one will bother us. This barn’s completely abandoned. The people who own this land don’t even farm anymore.”
Another ritual, huh? Well, what did she think he was going to show her? She’d half-wondered if he hadn’t dragged her out into the woods to try to convince her to get it on with him in the abandoned barn when it was thirty degrees outside. Owen had never tried to get her to have sex with him, but from what she understood, that was what seventeen-year-old boys usually did with their girlfriends. If you could really consider her Owen’s girlfriend. She guessed she was.
For the most part, Owen was everything to her. She couldn’t remember a time that they hadn’t been together. He was her protector, her companion, her best friend. When the kissing started, well, it had only seemed natural.
She folded her arms over her chest. “What makes you think this one’s going to work?” She couldn’t count the stupid things they’d tried in order to get back to Helicon, dancing around, chanting words in Greek, drawing strange runes in patterns on their skin. Each time, Owen had been sure that this ritual was it, that this time they’d be on their way home. But nothing had ever worked. Ever.
Owen sighed. “Don’t be like that. You know we have to keep trying. If we give up, we’ll never get back.”
She looked at the desolate barn and at Owen’s earnest blue eyes. Then she turned and started back for the car. She wasn’t sure what to say. After this ritual failed, how long would it be before Owen took off again?
Owen ran up behind her, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. “What happened while I was gone?”
“Nothing,” said Nora.
“Did Tim try anything else, because—”
“No.” Tim was her foster father. He’d gotten drunk and fresh with her one night, but Owen’d had a talk with him, and Owen was a pretty convincing guy when he needed to be. She shook her head. “It’s just maybe I don’t want to go through all of it again, you know? Maybe I don’t want to get my hopes up, just to have them get dashed. And last time we tried one of these, we screwed up our foster placement, and we had to come here, and maybe I don’t feel like getting uprooted again.”
Owen raised his eyebrows. “You like living with Tim and Laura?”
“Laura’s okay.”
“Laura’s a bitch,” said Owen. But Owen was only saying that because Laura was one of the few people on earth he couldn’t charm. When Nora and Owen had first arrived here, they’d been placed together. Owen was usually pretty good about convincing people not to split them up. But Laura had immediately taken a dislike to Owen and no amount of charm or convincing on his part would change her mind. She’d insisted he leave her house. She said Owen gave her the creeps. Owen had decided foster families weren’t worth it. Instead, he managed to convince some lawyers to work for him pro bono and get himself emancipated. Immediately afterward, he’d dropped out of school. Now he could focus completely on searching for ineffective rituals.
“I don’t want to start all over is all.”
“If it doesn’t work,” said Owen, “I’ll work on getting you emancipated too. Then you can come
with me.”
“Then I won’t graduate from high school.”
“People like us do not need high school.”
“We do if we’re stuck in this world.” She sighed. “When do you want to do this anyway?”
“The Roman Solstice,” said Owen. “That’s when the barrier between this world and Helicon is easiest to penetrate.”
“Christmas Eve? Do you have any idea how hard it is going to be to get out of my house on Christmas Eve?”
“I’ll help,” said Owen. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
Of course she was. She could complain all she wanted, but when it came down to it, these little rituals were the only bright spots in her otherwise dreary, hopeless life. She nodded.
Owen grabbed her hand. “I really am sorry. I think it’s gonna work this time.”
But he always said that.
“I missed you,” he said. “I thought about you every day.”
She looked up into his strikingly blue eyes, feeling her anger drift away. “I missed you too.”
He grabbed her other hand and kissed her again. This time, she opened her mouth to him, pressing her body against his, gripping his cold fingers with her own.
“Nora,” he murmured, and she loved the way he said her name.
“Can we move this make-out session to the backseat of your car?” she asked, grinning. “It is cold.”
“Mmm.” He kissed her nose. “Absolutely.”
Dancing Days Page 2