Intangible (11 page)

A blinding bolt of pain shot through his head and for a moment Marc was sure he’d been struck by lightning. The pain knocked him to his knees and made him unable to breathe.

And just as suddenly it was gone.

He didn’t know how they did that—turning it on and off like that—but it did not endear them to him when they did. He steadied himself with a hand on a gravestone, then slowly stood back up. No way was he going to grovel on his knees.

“It’s going to take time,” Marc said. “I can’t just go up and ask them if they’re the marked twins you’re looking for.” He paused, consciously opening his mind to see if he could hear their thoughts at all. Absolute silence. “If it is them? What then?”

“Then we won’t need your services anymore.” It sounded as if the thing was smiling.

“I’ll still need the medicine.” He closed his eyes, ground his teeth.

“We can cure what ails you.”

“So cure me now,” he said. His eyes snapped open. “I could be of more help if I was cured.”

They were silent a moment, blinking orange eyes at him in the black void between the trees. “We like the guarantee.”

You like to yank me around, he thought, looking off to where he could hear water splashing on the shore. A cool breeze brought the damp smell of algae through the graveyard.

“How do I know you’ll cure me?” he said.

“Trust.”

Marc laughed, short, hard. The Shadows were comedians.

“It is all you have,” they said.

“You didn’t say what you wanted them for.” They need me as much as I need them, he thought. If they could do this themselves, they would.

Silence again. It lasted so long he might have thought they’d left except for the black hole that was the center of the trees and the silence still in his head.

“Next time, more answers.” An inky black arm reached out toward Marc, and he instinctively flinched backwards. His heels caught on a small grave marker, and he twisted back, off balance, landing hard on the ground on his right hip.

They wheezed a laugh, and Marc glared back up at the trees as he rolled over to sit up, his heart pummeling his chest. The hand opened up and dropped a bottle. Marc heard it thunk on the ground, could just make it out in the grass a few feet in front of him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Next time.” He looked back up into the trees and the orange eyes were gone, the shadows between the trees had lightened, looked empty. He breathed a sigh of relief and reached over to pick up the bottle of pills.

Next time. He stood up, brushed the dirt off his pants. He never looked forward to next time.

ELEVEN

S
era stared at her wall, paintbrush in hand, canvas tarp under her bare feet while Luke and Fey studied for an AP English test out in the living room. She squinted at the speckles of orange and red she’d just dabbed in the midst of deep black, letting her eyes go out of focus. She adjusted the black shape that way, stepping back to get a broader look at it.

Something wasn’t right. She bit her bottom lip as she looked it over, her brush and palette held up like a waiter’s tray in her left hand. Maybe the black wasn’t black enough.

She should be down the hall with them, lounging on the overstuffed velour couch, trying to remember the dates of Shakespeare’s plays and quotes from
Othello
. It’s not like she couldn’t use the extra review or the snacks—she’d barely eaten two bites at dinner—but she just wasn’t able to focus after the weirdness today, and her stomach felt tight, hard like a lump of concrete, unfriendly to food.

She hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Luke about Meghan seeming to know about them. Fey had been around since it’d happened. So she still felt unsettled. She knew that he’d help with the logical explanation that was currently eluding her. But for the time being she was on her own.

What she could really use right now was time down at the lakeshore letting the waves ease her worries. But for the moment her room with its soothing ocean feel would have to do.

With the exception of her mural wall, she’d painted it all blue several years ago. A deep, rich hue on the three walls and ceiling. A dark navy carpet covered the floor. Her dresser, trunk, and bed frame had all been painted a subdued glittery gold. Filmy white curtains framed tall windows on two walls. The underwater effect of the room was usually calming for Sera, though it wasn’t working today.

She’d always been drawn to water, and could spend a full day by the lake here or the ocean whenever they visited Maine, soaking in the soothing slosh of the waves, doing nothing more than simply looking for interesting rocks or shells, or gazing out across the great blue expanse. She could breathe out there. Really, truly breathe.

Sera took a deep breath. She could almost breathe in here.

She spritzed the paint on her palette with the spray bottle from the shelf and sat down cross-legged on the floor to start something new. As she mixed white and purple together to make a light lavender, she heard the phone ring down the hall and her mom answer it.

Picking up some of the paint with her brush, she made small flowing swirls and circles on the wall. Tucking the brush into her left hand, she pulled another brush out from behind her ear, dabbed it into white paint, and stroked it in between the purple. The white became the center from where the purple sprouted, enveloped the swirls, surrounded the circles.

She switched back and forth between the two colors as her mind wandered back to the events of the afternoon. Meghan knew who she was, or at least what she could do. Sera was sure of that.

But how could she have known? It wasn’t possible.

Sera breathed out long and slow, trying to clear out the confusion in her head. She tried again. Meghan had seemed to be expecting the healing when she’d grabbed hold of Sera. And then she’d called Sera “the One”—whatever that was supposed to mean. It sure seemed as if Meghan knew things she couldn’t possibly know.

She shook her head, staring at the mingling of the white and purple shapes she was painting. It just couldn’t be. She didn’t want it to be. There had to be some other explanation.

Amber light flickered behind her, making the shapes on her wall dance. Candles were lit around the room, adding a warm glow to the fluorescent floor lamp she had twisted over to shine on her paint space while she worked. The spicy scents of cinnamon and vanilla wafted up from the flames as wax melted. She tucked an errant wave of dark hair behind her ear.

Flickering light. Jonas. She scowled at the wall. He’d scared Meghan away. Or at least she was fairly certain that’s who Meghan had been staring at behind her. When she’d turned to see him there, he’d looked—what? Surprised, maybe angry. Maybe Meghan was his girlfriend. Seemed strange to be mad at your girlfriend when she was bleeding all over the sidewalk, though.

Unless he was the one who hurt Meghan. Sera’s eyes went wide. Fey had warned her about him. Although, Sera thought, Fey would have mentioned if he had a tendency to try to kill people.

Sera sighed. She got up from the floor, rinsed out her two brushes, and sprayed her palette again. She surveyed her wall and chose a spot near the center. There was already a large orange and red spiral painted there, with sparks of yellow reaching out from it like sunbeams. Tucking one brush behind her ear, she let the other glaze along the lines of the spiral, adding a cool blue shadow to it from center to the outside end.

While her eyes followed the careful journey of her brush, her thoughts returned to the school parking lot and that guy. The redhead. She could see him again in her mind, leaning back against his car, staring at her. Smiling. As if he knew who she was.

She glanced toward her windows, and wondered if she’d gotten careless in her healings and people were starting to understand. It seemed too weird to have two strangers on the same day appear to know her—one who even seemed to understand her power. And yet, she just didn’t believe that could be true.

She had no answers.

She snubbed her brushes roughly into the jar of water and swished it around. Maybe some yoga would clear her mind.

Sera placed her palette in an airtight container, cleaned the brushes, and rolled up the tarp. Then she pulled her hair back into a pony tail and stood at one end of the yoga mat that she had unfurled in the center of the room.

Slow calming breaths, her hands hanging down by her sides. She needed this. She could feel her bones all come back into proper alignment as she breathed.

Just that felt good. Everything was okay.

She inhaled, lifted her arms up toward the ceiling, then bent over to flow through the asanas. She loved the sun salutation—the constant movement from position to position, the strength challenge, and the deep stretching. She breathed deeply, filling up her lungs with as much air as she could, a smile on her face, her body relaxing into the familiar rhythm. Her mom had gotten her into yoga a few years ago. She was no athlete—no, that was Luke—but she’d been immediately drawn to the physical aspect of yoga. She loved the way her body felt when she did it—strong, healthy, capable. And the way it calmed her mind.

Painting tonight just wasn’t helping her work out the kinks in her mind. But this—this was exactly what she needed. Time to herself and—

“Sera? We’re done, and Luke’s going to bed.” Fey crossed from the door to the trunk at the end of Sera’s bed where her bag sat. She bent down to put her books away, her long blonde hair falling to frame her head and shoulders, and glanced over at Sera still holding her yoga pose. “You never came out.”

“I know.” Sera sighed, sat back on her heels so she could see Fey right side up. “I just…needed to process the day, I guess.”

“The woman downtown?” Fey looked mock-confused. “You mean that’s not a normal day for you?”

“Yeah, right? I know.” Sera paused. “It
was
weird, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” Fey looked very serious suddenly, spooking Sera further. It was as if Fey
knew
, and understood something far bigger than Sera could at the moment. Her heart beat a wild pace as she felt Fey’s mood. She knew she was reading too much into Fey’s statement, and sensing things that weren’t really there. She tried to tell herself that, to slow her heart back down.

Fey looked away, her face tight as she gazed back down at her deep green backpack.

“Fey?” Sera said. “About Jonas…is he—”

“Sera, honey?” her mom called from the hallway. Sera turned to see her mother stop in the doorway. “Oh, hello Fey. Done studying for the night?”

“Yes. We know all there is to know about good old Will.”

“Good to hear.” She turned to Sera again. “Since you’re busy, I’ll come back later.”

“Actually, I thought I’d take a shower, if that’s okay.” Fey rustled through her bag, came up with her pajamas and toothbrush. “So don’t leave on my account.”

“All right, then. I’ll stay. You know where everything is?”

Fey nodded as she walked out of the room.

“What’s up?” Sera asked, and it was then that she noticed a sadness hanging about her mother’s eyes. Sera got up off the mat and went to sit on her bed. She patted the mattress next to her as an invitation. Her mother smiled and took both of Sera’s hands in hers as she sat down. Healing energy immediately flowed down Sera’s arms and into her mom, and she could see the slight glow as it transferred through their hands.

“Have you talked to Dad today?”

“No,” Sera said. That was not the question she’d expected, though she should have since he seemed to be the cause of so much of her mother’s stress. “Not since I saw him on Saturday.”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?”

“About what?”

Her mom looked down at their intertwined hands, rubbed her fingers across Sera’s, and let go of her breath. “I don’t know.”

Sera watched as her mom’s forehead smoothed, her face relaxed, and her shoulders migrated back down to where they belonged. The healing light faded away now that her mother’s stress was eased. But still, there was obviously something her mom wanted to tell her, but was afraid to. Maybe she could help relieve her mom’s stress about that too. Sera pushed a thought into her mom.
It’s okay to tell me whatever it is that’s upsetting you.

“Is Luke still up?”

“I don’t think so,” Sera said. “Fey said he’d gone to bed.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, tonight wouldn’t be appropriate anyway with Fey here.”

“Mom? Is something going on? Are you sick?”

Her mom turned and looked right into Sera’s eyes. “No, honey. I’m not sick. No, that’s not what I’m—It’s something—” She shook her head slightly and sighed again. “It’s nothing like that, love. But it really should wait for when the three of us are together. And maybe Dad, too.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I know that’s a rotten thing to tell you.” Her mom smiled again, but this time it reached her eyes. “But that’s what I’m here for: Mom, the fun-sucker.”

“Aw, gee, Mom. You don’t suck the fun out of everything.” Sera grinned.

“Good to know. I’ve got something to work on, then.”

Sera tilted her head to one side, serious again. “You sure you’re okay?”