Authors: Christopher Shields
I pointed across the street to Rachel’s car and they all moved to the window. Then, with a cushion of Air, I moved her Civic backwards one parking spot. In the place where it had been sitting, I set the leaves on fire and swirled them in the air.
“Holy crap…” Ronnie whispered, “Holy steaming crap!”
Rachel drew in a sharp breath, giggled, and then drew another sharp breath.
“Okay, that part I hadn’t guessed,” Candace said. “Can we learn to do that?”
Billy shook his head. “Maggie is the first human in two thousand years who can do that.”
Billy didn’t say the word,
Maebown
—so much the better. I didn’t want to have to explain that to them anyway, and I didn’t want to explain to them that I would probably die. Instead, he changed the subject and tried to make them feel more confident by assuring them he couldn’t read the images in their minds when they concentrated.
Rachel looked sick to her stomach when she started talking. “How do we know when to hide our thoughts?”
“I’m so very glad you asked, Rachel. Any time you’re thinking about my kind, hide the images in your mind. Don’t visualize. Don’t talk about us either, not unless you’re with Maggie or me, and then only when we say it’s safe. As you learned today, we could be in the room and you wouldn’t know it.
“You don’t need to hide anything else, and you shouldn’t. Don’t call Maggie and talk about us, a Fae might be listening, but feel free to call Maggie and talk about anything else. Rachel, you cannot tell anyone about anything you’ve learned.”
Billy compelled Rachel when he said it. He was still compelling her when he told them that I could sense the Fae. He suggested I use a term or phrase to let them know when a Fae was close. We agreed that I would mention Aunt May in some way whenever there was danger.
“Is anyone else in danger?” Rachel asked.
“No, if they remain completely ignorant about the Fae. The moment you say anything to them, however, you put them at risk,” Billy said. Then he concentrated on Rachel. “Why am I feeling guilt and concern coming from you?”
She looked frightened.
“Ah,” he said.
“Ah, what?” I asked.
“She has told someone else already.” He looked at her. “Didn’t you?”
Rachel nodded and whispered the name, “Rhonda.”
“Rachel!”
“I’m sorry…I didn’t know. She didn’t believe me.”
“Maggie, don’t worry,” Billy said. “I’ll take care of it right away.”
“Rachel, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to know. You talk too much. Billy, could you go take care of it, please?” I asked.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t know.”
“It’s all right, but don’t…” I started.
Billy interrupted me. “Rachel…”
“Yes?”
“This is the one and only time I’ll erase someone’s memory. The next time you’ll be putting them and yourself at risk.”
She shuddered and nodded. “I understand.”
I assumed that Billy didn’t mean a word of what he’d told Rachel, but the threat would probably be the only thing that would keep her mouth shut. Billy compelled her again, even more forcefully. He kept it up for several minutes before he left to do the same with Rhonda. Before he went, I considered telling him to implant the desire to be a better person into her head.
Before Rachel drove Ronnie and I back to the school parking lot to get our cars, I reiterated how important it was for them to keep their mouths shut, and to be mindful of what they visualized. Candace considered my warning, and made another revelation, “You said Sherman healed me. If he’s Fae, that means Sara’s Fae.”
“Sara is, and she’s on my side, but for reasons I can’t discuss, you have to hide your thoughts from her. For my sake, your sake, and hers.”
Candace grinned. “If Sara is, so is…”
“Yes. Gavin, too,” I said.
SIXTEEN
PETE’S SECRET
The Ohanzee, my friends, my parents—with everything that had been going on, I hadn’t found a spare evening to read Pete’s journal. After dark, Sara left me alone in my room and I tried to seize the opportunity but I could only think about the difference a year makes. Twelve months before, I was getting ready for my sixteenth birthday, getting to know Sara, and spending time with Aunt May. I was also feeling the connection with Gavin for the first time.
Before curling up on my bed, I pulled the gold necklace Gavin had given me out of my jewelry box. Staring at the tiny bird pendant, I wondered where he was at that moment. France? Iceland? Mars?
He could be anywhere.
I rarely wore it outside of my room, because I feared the thin chain might break and I’d lose my connection to him, but it was safe to wear it now. Having it around my neck, feeling it against the skin just above my heart, I imagined the distance between us was erased and I relaxed. I knew, somehow, we would be reunited.
The thought of sleep briefly entered my mind, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to. Pete O’Shea’s journal was tucked under my pillow. Like possessing a secret treasure map to untold riches, it was impossible to think about sleep before uncovering the secrets inside the journal and figuring out how to find Mitch.
The binding was stiff and the pages, yellowed from time, were fragile and frayed around the edges. Foreign, yet oddly familiar, it smelled old and musty, like grass with a hint of vanilla and slightly acidic.
Pete O’Shea wrote in a flowery, archaic style that I found charming, if not a little difficult to understand. I opened my Mac and found an online dictionary. After a few pages I learned that Pete’s relationship with the Fae, Ozara in particular, was not as comfortable as mine with Sara and Billy. Pete made it clear that he was very suspicious of the Fae. Unlike me, he’d never doubted their existence. He’d grown up in early nineteenth century Ireland, so Fae lore was in his blood. Nevertheless he was disturbed to find them in Arkansas, but the deal Ozara offered him, to expand his tiny parcel of land to thousands of acres, was more than he could pass up.
A few pages in, I found a reference to Pete’s first encounter with the
peculiar arachnid,
as he put it. Pete didn’t trust Tse-xo-be, at least initially. Tse-xo-be gained his confidence by revealing things that Ozara sought to keep hidden, namely, that she could read the images in Pete’s mind. Pete’s mother had already told him the Fae could read minds, though that was a little inaccurate on her part. Tse-xo-be’s admission made all the difference to Pete.
A page later, Tse-xo-be began teaching Pete how to eavesdrop on the Fae, or at least that’s what I decided to call it. I didn’t know anything about astral projection beyond what Candace and her mother had told me, so I wasn’t sure whether the technique from the journal was the same thing or not. After several pages, I knew what I had to do, but I’d also learned that it wouldn’t be easy. Pete struggled, and he’d had Tse-xo-be to teach him. I had nothing but an old journal and a sincere hope that Pete had taken copious notes.
Following Pete’s instructions, I settled back on my bed and tried to clear my thoughts. I focused only on finding Cassandra. With errant thoughts drifting through my mind here and there, it was more difficult to clear my head than I thought it would be. I don’t remember how long I’d tried, but I finally managed to concentrate on Cassandra. I saw images of the Seoladán—it was foggy. Through the mist, I saw her with someone. They were holding each other in a passionate embrace, no, they were doing more than that, but I couldn’t quite make out who was with her. Disgusting. As I drew closer, I heard a loud buzzing sound. I looked around and couldn’t determine were the sound was coming from. Then the fog lifted. I woke up with my alarm clock going off.
It’s five o’clock in the morning, already?
“Crap. It was just a dream.”
I shook my head and sat up, rubbing my swollen eyes. “Note to self: attempting astral travel when tired leads to bad dreams. Thanks for the warning, Pete.”
It was Monday morning and I had to get ready for school. This was the last week before spring break, and I had an exam in Spanish II a few hours away, but I wanted to try again. My slippers were at the foot of my bed. I found them and shuffled into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, hoping that would keep me from falling back asleep.
Satisfied that I was wide awake, I settled back on the bed but set my alarm for 6:15 to be sure. Once again I tried to relax—it was easier to do because my mind was clear. Pete said to focus on the object I wanted to find, and then clear my mind and relax my body. I said, “I will find Cassandra,” and then I began to focus on nothing other than relaxing my body and slowing my heart rate. My natural ability to calm myself helped.
With my eyes closed, I began picturing the ceiling above me, just as he had done. I don’t know how much time had passed, but I
felt
like I was beginning to move upwards. Fully cognizant of where I was, my body tingled for a few moments. Then I had the sensation of floating. The picture of the ceiling in my mind grew closer. When I opened my eyes, the sense of movement reversed and I felt like I was falling, rather suddenly, back toward the bed. My heart took a few quick beats as I found myself lying awake on the duvet cover.
“More time, give it more time, Maggie.”
I repeated the process until again I felt like I was floating. This time, however, I didn’t try to open my eyes or move. Just as Pete had said, I seemed to be sensing the energy in everything around me and slowly I became aware of my body somewhere below. The sensation of rolling over occurred simultaneously with my desire to do so. The vision in my mind changed as I did, and even though I couldn’t feel my eyes to make them open, I
saw
myself, tangled hair, stretched out in my huge, wrinkled Razorback t-shirt, several feet below.
I willed myself to the window and to the window I went. Pete said it was important to keep mental discipline, because we could create anything our minds desired, good or bad, and as he put it, he’d been led “
to a variety of unfortunate places and into the presence of a great many less than desirable images by mere conjecture and flight of fancy
.”
Duly noted, Pete.
Focusing on the garden, I at once moved to it through the window of my room. A milky fog blanketed the area obscuring objects more than forty or fifty feet past me. The energy of everything in the garden was almost palpable to me, however, and I didn’t have to extend my mind to sense it. The Fae guards were in their normal positions. Each appeared to be as oblivious to my presence as Pete said they’d be.
Shoe’s on the other foot
, I spoke, or thought, to the one nearest the gate, who happened to be in the form of a rabbit.
It startled and turned in my direction, startling me. Immediately, I felt my body back up in the bedroom, and the connection, or tether, I had to it was lost. Pete said we remained tethered in this state, and if threatened, we’d return to our bodies immediately. Then I felt another presence, one that appeared to be moving quickly toward me. I recognized her, somehow, as Aunt May, though she didn’t look the same. She motioned me to follow her but placed a finger over her mouth.
Going to her was difficult and took all of my concentration. She wasn’t leading me to the Seoladán, but to the boat dock. I started to speak and she seemed to sense it. Again, she turned and held a finger over her mouth. I drifted down the mist-cloaked hill, through the trees, behind her. She was much younger looking…wherever we were, and very graceful as she floated to the edge of my view. She patiently waited for me to close the distance, and then repeated the movement several times, always holding her finger over her closed lips.
Before the edge of the dock came into my field of vision, I felt Cassandra. She was there with someone, a human, who seemed strangely familiar, but whom I didn’t yet recognize.
“You must leave now, but remember what I want. She stole it from me and I must have it back.” Cassandra’s voice cut through the fog like a knife.
“I’ll get it back, I promise.”
I heard the voice, and I recognized it immediately, but I couldn’t accept that it was really him. I concentrated on the dock and found myself hovering there. Cassandra and Doug were embraced—he was half-dressed, his bronze skin gleaming from the waist up. My worst fears were realized—Rachel had been right. Aunt May glided up next to me, and again urged me not to make a sound.
I wanted to warn him and pull him away from her. Doug didn’t know that she could snap him in two. A moment later, she pulled his face toward hers and his mouth fell open. He clung to her body, nude except for a thin gown that hid nothing, and kissed her passionately. She grabbed his hair and guided his face down her neck to her breasts before gently pulling his head away so that he was staring up into her smoldering brown eyes. His breathing came hard and fast as he ground his hips into her, and she him.
“There will be time enough for that later, lover,” she cooed and laughed seductively. “For me, for us, I need you to leave for a little while.”
He smiled at her, his ornery smile, the one he used so effectively on me, and she grinned back at him while letting her gown fall. He began wrestling with his belt when I heard the buzzing sound.
The falling sensation was the same as before and I woke up startled, angry, but alone in my room. I refused to think about what I’d just seen, and grabbed Pete’s journal. My gut told me to hide it, but why I wasn’t sure. I walked to the wall of my bedroom and opened a hole in the plaster with my mind. With the book tucked inside, I closed it, leaving the surface precisely as it had been. Hidden, I hoped.