More typing.
“Okay,” said Ian. “Do any of these guys look familiar?” I scanned the faces.
“Not really,” I said.
Ian frowned. “Do you think . . . ?” He trailed off.
“What?”
“Nah, never mind.”
“Ian,” I prodded. “Tell me. What are you thinking?”
“Well . . . there have to be a bunch of different James Harrisons out there, right? What if the guy we’re looking for isn’t my dad? What if we just want him to be?”
I thought about it. Ian did have a point—there were a bunch of Aaron Wards, and I’d used my visions to track him down. When I saw him, I knew. I’d gotten the same feeling when I’d seen James’s face in my mind. Besides, he’d kind of looked like Ian.
“I’m pretty sure it’s your dad,” I said. “It’s just a feeling I get. But it looks like . . .” I took over and typed a few more things into the computer, which yielded zero search results. “He doesn’t want to be found as badly as we want to find him.”
Ian pounded his fist against the counter in frustration.
“Is it possible he changed his name?” I asked.
“Well, yeah. It’s possible he moved to Siberia. Anything’s possible.”
“We’ll find him,” I said. “Don’t give up hope.” I tried to recall the mental image of James Harrison in my head, but something was bugging me. “Hey, Ian?”
“Yeah?”
“How come you’ve never mentioned much about your family before? This whole thing . . . it’s the first I’m hearing about your dad.”
Ian glanced at me, then busied himself with emptying the cash register.
“No reason. There just hasn’t been much to say.”
“Yeah, but . . .” I paused, wondering the best way to phrase this. “I’m an only child. You’re an only child. My parents died when I was six and I live with my aunt. Your dad left when you were the same age, and you live with your mom. It seems like somewhere down the line, this would have come up.”
“Yeah, well, it hasn’t.”
“Ian!”
“Look, Skye, Aunt Jo loves having us all over for dinner and being like a den mother or whatever. My family’s not like that, okay? I guess I’m just a little more private.”
I glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about private,” I said. “I have had to keep way too many secrets in my life.”
He sighed and tossed the zip-up bag with the money onto the counter.
“Okay, listen. I was kind of ashamed. Your parents died, Skye—all noble and trying to protect you and everything. They would have done anything for you. My dad ran out, just left without a word. I was so little, I don’t even remember what he looks like.”
“But aren’t there pictures? Didn’t your mom tell you anything?”
“My mom was so furious she hid everything from me. She refused to tell me anything about him. Who he was, what he did, why he left—until now. And only because I said I was old enough now that I could find him on my own, if I wanted. There’s still a lot she won’t tell me. But at least I got his name.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had been so focused on the mission, I’d barely stopped to think what this might be like for Ian. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I didn’t realize.”
“Yeah, well. I grew up hating him, thinking he was bad. Determined that I wouldn’t end up like him. I never wanted to find my dad.” We sat in silence for a minute. “You miss your parents every day, Skye. Before this whole thing started, I was pretty content not knowing anything, you know?”
“We don’t have to—”
“Yes,” he put his hand on my arm gently. “We do.”
“I can’t believe you would do this for me.”
“I would do a lot of things for you, Skye.” He winked at me. “Most things. But this? I’m doing this for all of us.” He finished clearing up, then turned back to me. “You know, maybe it’s not too late for me to want to find out the truth.”
When I pulled into my driveway, the light was on inside, spilling out in window shapes over the front lawn. It didn’t seem like so long ago that I would come home to find Asher leaning against the front door, legs crossed casually in front of him, smiling that slightly wicked smile of his, his eyes sparkling like dark stars. Something sliced through my chest, a pain so sharp and clear I had to put my hand on the car for support.
It seemed to me, all my life, that love was letting someone in, only to have them leave you.
I could hear voices coming from inside—Aunt Jo’s, and then Earth’s, and then Aaron’s deep baritone cutting in above the clinking of pots, the rushing of water in the kitchen sink.
Love was letting someone in, only to have them leave you.
I was getting too attached to Earth and Aaron. We needed him—both of them—to help us with the Uprising. But after that, would they stay? Maybe Earth was wrong, and loving someone wasn’t just like riding a bike. Or maybe you realized that riding bikes was fun when you were younger, but you’re a different person now.
I didn’t want them to leave. I wanted to have family dinners and weekend camping trips and big turkeys at Thanksgiving, and inside jokes that only the four of us would know.
I hesitated in the driveway, and instead of going in right away, I walked around the side of the house and climbed the trellis up to the roof. The sky was clear, midnight blue and cloudless. The moon shone bright as a lantern over the mountaintops.
Why had I seen Asher the night of the fire? What else was the Rebellion planning—and was he involved? The Rebellion was violent and unpredictable. And whether he wanted to be or not, Asher was one of them.
What if he’d turned his back on me?
What if Astaroth was right?
15
The weekend opened up before us like the little purple flowers that were springing into bloom across the field behind our house.
For me, it couldn’t have come soon enough. It had been a rougher week than usual at school. In addition to the finals schedule being announced, and Cassie throwing herself full-force into prom planning, my visions were getting stranger, scarier. And I was having dreams every night now.
In one, Asher was holding a sword to my neck, telling me to jump or he would kill me.
In another, I was walking on that same beach from my visions. But it was covered with broken wings, spattered with blood and jagged where they’d been cut from someone’s back.
In the most recent, Devin was pulling his blade from my stomach, and blood poured from the gaping wound. “Trust is for dreamers and fools,” he said. “You think you can save the world, but how can you trust the people around you when you can’t even trust yourself?” But it wasn’t his voice that rang in my head, it was Astaroth’s, and then he said something else, but I couldn’t hear him as the blood rushed up past my nose and mouth, past my ears, and I woke screaming in a cold sweat to find Earth sitting at the foot of my bed.
She put her hand on my leg.
“It’s him,” she said, “isn’t it? The one who can see into your mind.”
“They’re dreams,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “They’re just dreams.”
“No,” she said, her calm, small voice comforting in the night. “It’s him. It’s easier when you’re asleep. Don’t let what he says scare you. It’s not real.”
Betrayal. Shattered trust. And if the dreams were right, I would die, soon, and violently. Possibly at the hands of someone I trusted. Gideon had only taught me how to protect my mind from infiltration when I was awake. I had no idea how to stop Astaroth from getting in while I was asleep. How would I protect my dreams?
The question plagued me: Were they visions of the future or just visions he was planting in my mind to rattle me?
Whatever it was, something was changing. Every day, the visions and dreams were getting worse. Order and Chaos were on the verge of colliding. A battle of some kind loomed even closer. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had
to find James, so we could stop the carnage from happening. Or before Astaroth drove me crazy in the process.
I only had a face to go on, and a name that didn’t seem to match that face. It wasn’t adding up, and we were running out of time.
Aunt Jo made dinner one night and invited the whole group over. She claimed it was safer when we were all together, and that she wanted to talk about our plan, but I had an inkling she had other reasons as well. Aunt Jo had been especially chipper lately. No, not chipper. Glowing. It was like I was seeing a side of her she’d never showed me before. She’d always loved having friends over to cook for, but this felt different. She wasn’t doing it for herself this time, or even for me. She was doing it for someone else.
And he was sitting right next to her, watching adoringly as she passed the mashed ginger-and-carrot sweet potatoes.
“How are the prom plans coming, Cassie?” Aunt Jo asked.
“Fab,” Cassie said. “You’ll never guess what the theme is.”
“Do we want to know?” asked Dan.
“It’s the End of the World!” Cassie beamed.
An awkward silence fell over the table.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who eats their shoes,” Raven snorted.
“That’s the theme of prom?” I asked.
“You told me it was my job to bring the levity,” Cassie said, trying not to look hurt as she glanced around the table. “It’s based on disaster movies, Skye. Titanic, The Day After Tomorrow, Poseidon, Twister.” She paused and looked at me. “Your favorites. I thought you’d be happy.”
My heart swelled for Cassie. She was helping, in her small way, the only way she could.
“It sounds awesome,” I said.
“Yeah, if we make it to prom,” Ian muttered.
“Ian!” Cassie cried. “That is, like, blasphemy. Of course we will.” She turned to me. “We will, right, Skye?”
Would we? I wanted to say I didn’t know, wanted so badly for them to comfort me. But I was this group’s leader, and I had to give them hope—even if I was finding it harder and harder to believe.
“Of course we will,” I said. Ian looked dubious.
“If we find my dad first.” He pushed the broccoli around his plate and rested his chin in his other hand. “I just wish I could ask him where he is, you know?”
“Well, that would make things a lot easier,” Aaron said. “Too bad we just have to rely on our own resources.”
Or did we? Something about the conversation jogged a memory for me. The letter from my mother! She had said a time would come when I had questions. And I should ask her. I had no idea what it meant, but maybe it was worth a shot.
That night, while Aaron still slept behind closed doors in Aunt Jo’s room, Raven occupied the couch in the den, and Earth snored softly in her sleeping bag, I took out the small wooden box. There was something magical about the way it was made, as if the etching of the key had glowed only for me.
“Okay, Mom,” I whispered. “I have so many questions I still need answers to. You said I could ask, so . . . I’m asking.” But what to ask first? “Are we going to win?” If she’d had the Sight, maybe she knew.
One of the four intertwining loops of the key’s head glowed, bright and then brighter. My heart sped up. Maybe this would work.
But just as I began to have hope, it faded back to normal. And then it disappeared completely.
Nothing happened. The box sat in my hands, unchanged. Maybe she couldn’t give me the answer to something that hadn’t happened yet. Maybe that wasn’t how this worked. I guess it was possible that even my mother’s power had limitations. Or maybe it was me—blurring the future.
I decided to start with something more basic.
“Okay,” I said. “How can you answer me, when you’re . . . well . . . dead?”
Another loop on the key burned brightly, and suddenly I felt like I was going headfirst down one of those water slides at amusement parks, the tall ones that wind like snakes in spiral loops down to the bottom. But instead of splashing out into a pool below, I found myself standing in the bedroom of the cabin.
A man stood with his arms resting on the antique dresser, his back to me. He wore a blue checkered flannel and had dark brown hair that hung down his neck.
Dad.
“I just don’t like that you’re doing this to her,” he said, his back rising and falling in a sigh.
“Sam,” a woman’s voice said from behind me. She walked right past me, and my breath stopped. My mother had honey blond hair, pinned up in a loose twist. Pieces fell down and framed her face, and when the light from the open window hit them, even I had to admit she looked like an angel. “We’re doing it to protect her.” Her voice was gentle, soft. “She’s not ready yet. If we do this to her, it will be too much. She could die.”
“I know,” he said quietly. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head on his back.
“Turn around, Sam,” she said, and he did. The sight of his face hit me with longing. Even now, all these years later, I still missed my parents acutely. Even now that I knew my memories of them were tampered with, weren’t whole.
It made me angry to think about it. But I had a feeling my mother was showing me this for a reason.
“One day she’s going to come into her powers, and she’ll have a heavier weight on her shoulders than any one person before her. She’s going to have questions. And what if we’re not there for her?”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s possible, and you know it. Once the Order sets their minds to something . . .”
“I hate the idea of Skye growing up without us. Without knowing who she really is. We should be there to help her.”
My mother paused, took his bearded face in her hands.
“We can be.”
He looked at her. “Well, sure, if the Order doesn’t get their way, but—”
“No, Sam. Even then. We can be.” She looked into the mirror behind him, and her eyes met mine, as I watched.
I knew, in that moment, that she was talking to me. This—this was what she meant by giving me answers.
“When a Gifted One or a Guardian uses their powers to influence a person’s mental energy,” she said, still holding my gaze, “it changes a little bit of their makeup, and yours, forever. It creates a bond—a connection between the two minds. The more intense and prolonged the influence, the stronger the bond. It’s not intentional—just a natural, accidental sort of side effect to mental influence. An accidental rift in the fabric of an angel’s mind that lets the human see a little bit into their thoughts and feelings. If the influence is only for a short period of time, you might be able to make out snippets and inklings. If it’s for longer, a kind of, well . . . portal is created.” The look on my dad’s face changed as he began to catch on. “You just look into their eyes. . . .”
“You’ve been doing this her whole childhood,” my dad said. She nodded, excitedly.
“I’ve been preparing. We’re going to die, Sam. I’ve seen it. I know it’s a sacrifice, but this will be worth it in the long run, when Skye finds herself caught in the middle of the two sides, without us to guide her, and she needs our help.”
“But how . . . if you’re not there . . . how will she . . . ?”
“Do you have the box you made for her?”
My dad nodded and reached into the top dresser drawer. So Dad kept things in his sock drawer, too. A smile tugged at my lips.
He took out the small wooden box, with the familiar etching of the key on it—the one I held in my hands at that very moment—and they held it between them.
“Give it your energy,” she whispered. “Imbue it with your powers. Protect it, so that it can only be opened if someone has the key.” She smiled at him.
“And only Skye will have the key.”
I watched in awe as pale, twinkling light flowed through my mother’s fingertips—and black smoke shot from my father’s. When they met, the box glowed a bri
ght silver between them. Dark and light.
You never lose your powers, Raven had said. Even after you become human.
I blinked, and I was back in my bedroom. Earth continued to snore, hidden away in her sleeping bag. The moon continued to shine through my window, and the stars continued to wink at me. I was exhausted, just completely drained from the connection to my mother’s thoughts and the events of the past few weeks. Still clutching the box to my chest, I fell into a deep sleep.
I didn’t sleep for long.
“Skye,” the voice whispered, as if made of the darkness itself. “Let me in.”
“No,” I murmured, rolling over and shoving a pillow over my head.
“No?” he repeated. “No. What kind of attitude is that?”
“No!” I shut my eyes tight and began to build, brick by hurried brick, the wall that would protect my mind from Astaroth.
“Now, now, that seems awfully hasty,” he said, his voice like honey. “Don’t you want to hear what I have to say? Could be important, you never know.”
“What could you possibly have to tell me,” I said through gritted teeth, “that I would want to hear?”
“You might be surprised. You might say you’ll find your mind somewhat . . . changed.”
“I doubt it. I won’t let your mind tricks work on me. I’m going to overthrow you. I’m going to make you wish you’d never tried to get me to choose.”
“You don’t understand, Skye,” his voice was suddenly hard-edged and brutal. “You were lucky that we let you choose. I could have taken you by force right at the start. But that wasn’t the plan. It wasn’t in the stars. No, you had to want us. Devin was as good a way to make that happen as any. I could have made him do much worse to you than he did. And he was easily disposable. The Rebellion can have him.”
“Liar. You didn’t need him. You could have gotten to me before I was strong, when you had the chance. But you didn’t, because I don’t think you can.”
“Then you,” he said, “are sorely misled. Others have tried to do what you’re doing. Your mother tried. Look how well that turned out for her.”
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