Of Breakable Things (9 page)

“I didn’t expect it to look so … ”

“Elegant?” Gabe laughed. “I thought the same thing. The outside looks kind of like Hannibal Lector’s prison cell, doesn’t it? And then you walk in and find this palace.”

At the end of the fire walkway stood a peculiar fountain. A bridge crossed its spout, giving it the appearance that a sword had sliced it down the middle. Oddly, the fountain held no water.

“It’s quiet in here,” Gabe noted with a frown.

When they reached a desk, a girl suddenly appeared, rigidly perched like one of the gargoyles outside. Everything about her seemed to be pointy; her sharp nose, her narrow chin, and even her hair rested on her shoulders in perfectly perpendicular edges.

“Oh great,” Jonas grumbled. “What’s Tess doing here?”

Kaleb cupped his hand over his mouth so his words wouldn’t travel far. “That explains the empty room.”

“You guys are late.” Tess’s mouth twitched in an attempt to smile, but the expression never seemed to reach the other features of her face. She was like a stone.

“That’s because we were talking to Romey outside,” Kaleb said. “So you don’t have to worry about blabbing to her, Tess.”

“Romey’s outside? Did she say how long I have to stay here?”

“You weren’t exactly on our minds,” Jonas said. “Besides does it matter? You’ve already missed all the fun tonight.”

Alex didn’t think this girl looked like the type who knew how to have fun.

“There was plenty of commotion to keep me entertained. Did you guys hear about the fountain?”

“What about it?” Gabe asked.

“The contamination? I’m sure you’ve noticed there’s nothing in the fountain. But, oh, I guess your family has been rather preoccupied today.”

“Contaminated, huh? Did you have something to do with it?” Jonas asked.

A corner of her lips jolted upward. “Funny you say that. Weren’t
you
questioning Romey about the fountain last week?”

Jonas looked uninterested. “What are you getting at, Tess?”

“I don’t know. I just think it’s a little sketchy, especially since you were asking about how it filters our air. My brothers say—”

Jonas cut her off. “I really don’t care.”

“At least
my
brothers follow the rules.”

“Follow the rules?” Kaleb exclaimed with a loud laugh. “Since when is throwing people in the fountain following rules? Maybe that’s how it got contaminated!”

Jonas was scowling. “And for your information, I asked about the fountain because I had to clean it during detention last week. So maybe you should check your facts before opening your ugly mouth.”

Tess’s rock hard expression didn’t waver. If anything, she seemed pleased. “Maybe you could just inform me of some facts then. What happened to Chase this morning?”

Alex didn’t like the accusatory way she said his name. She hadn’t thought so many people would know about his predicament.

“Why do you care?” Kaleb asked.

Tess shrugged innocently. “Jonas was just saying I should get my facts straight. Who better to ask than his own brother? Did it have something to do with the fountain?”

“Actually, no, it didn’t.”

“Then why is he in trouble?”

“No offense, but that’s really none of your business,” Kaleb said calmly.

Tess let out a small
hmph
of laughter, and even that was sharp like a spur. “So Alex, do you have any ancestors here?”

Ellington’s advice was fresh in her mind. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly.

“Why are you such a nosy—” Jonas began but Gabe shoved him to shut him up.

“Be nice.”

Tess smiled. She seemed to like that her spurs were getting under their skin. “You boys wouldn’t understand. You’re first-generation spirits,” she said, indicating this was a stigma. “What is Alex short for?”

“It’s short for shut the hell up,” Jonas interjected.

“That was so clever,” said Tess. “Honestly, Jonas, I cannot leave my seat, which wasn’t such a punishment until you arrived. But if I bother you so much, why are
you
still here?”

“Excellent point. We were just leaving. It’s been such a pleasure seeing you, Tess.” He spat the words as though the taste of them was wretched.

As the Lasalles pulled her through the vestibule, Alex peeked back over her shoulder at the icy girl. The aggression of the conversation didn’t seem to faze Tess.

“She was charming,” Alex said sarcastically.

Kaleb made a face. “Tess-the-Pest thinks she can say and do whatever she wants.”

Jonas seethed. “Did you hear the scorn in her voice when she called us first-generation spirits? I hate that girl.”

“Why did she ask about my family?”

“Get used to it. Everyone asks about it when newburies arrive.”

“She was trying to see if she should invite you into her little cult,” Gabe explained.

“Huh?”

“Legacy kids. They think they’re superior because they have ancestors here.”

“They do get special treatment.” Kaleb led the group to a narrow opening in the far corner of the room where a wavy ramp spiraled around a black pillar like an Archimedes’ screw.

Alex kept a hand on the pillar to support herself while she followed the boys around and around. At each floor, the darkness broke to reveal beautiful stone balconies with chairs and tables overlooking the vestibule. At the seventh floor, the boys stopped.

“It’s interesting that she’s on this level, right?” Jonas asked his brothers, giving Alex a little shove off the ramp. “I guess after what she did to the bench, it shouldn’t be such a surprise.”

Alex shifted unsteadily on her feet. “You know I hate it when people speak about me like I’m not here.”

“The seventh floor newburies tend to be advanced,” Kaleb said.

“Is that a coincidence?”

“There aren’t many coincidences around here. You blew up a bench earlier, so they must have gotten your room assignment right.”

“You might have family here,” Gabe said.

“I don’t think so.” Not anymore, at least.

“You’d be surprised. The longer the lineage, the stronger the spirit. The other day I read about the evolution of—”

“Come on!” Kaleb interrupted. “If you start spouting off, we’ll be standing here all night.” He offered Alex an encouraging nod. “Good luck!”

She hadn’t thought about what would happen next. She didn’t know where she was supposed to go or what she was supposed to do. Taking a tentative step forward, she poked her head around the corner to find a seemingly never-ending corridor. “What now?”

Jonas attempted to take a step out onto the landing, but Kaleb yanked him back. Jonas scowled. “Figure it out,” he snapped, turning back to the ramps. They disappeared, and his voice called down, “We did!”

For the first time since she died, she was alone. And she didn’t like it.

Taking a deep breath, she crept gingerly down the hallway, hoping a door might somehow have her name on it, and noticed something peculiar.

There were no doors.

The hallway contained window and picture frames of varying sizes but with mirrors behind them. Alex couldn’t see her own reflection, just the image of the decor behind her. Each frame displayed a caption underneath. The circular one closest to her read
Sonja F. Rellingsworth, Founder of the Modern Periodic Table.
The rectangular frame next to it was labeled
Kender Federive, Service General.
Alex continued down the hall, her eyes drifting over the captions, panes, and mirrors. She stopped beside the large crisscrossed window of
Kinza Adel, Eidolon Ambassador from 1843–1986
, and she heard the squeak of hinges.

A piece of the wall swung open like a door. Cautiously, Alex crossed the threshold, and the door clicked shut behind her.

There was no question this room was hers, because it was exactly what she would have wanted. It was a scene she’d seen once in a catalog advertising high-end home goods. The welcoming room smelled of fresh linens and lilacs. French doors grinned at her from the far corner, with tables on either side piled high with worn books, though not nearly as many as those that inhabited the built-in bookshelves. Everything was beautifully aged, yet somehow brand new.

A bizarre ending to a bizarre day
, she thought, falling into a great brute of a bed. Like the thick tufts of clouds in a child’s drawing, the layers of blankets cradled her form. Fatigue overcame her as she rearranged herself horizontally, supporting her back against the wooden backboard. It was comforting to have something secure behind her. Security that the world was not going to disappear as she slept. Security that
she
would not disappear.

She slept like the dead.

Alex’s sleep was not dreamless, but it was like television snow. All power and no programming. That is, until the very last seconds between asleep and awake.

When her mind opened itself, she realized she was lying on her stiff rock of a mattress at the Eskers Psychological Rehabilitation Center, a candy-coated term for “mental institution.” Bullets of fierce raindrops disturbed the darkness, pelting the skylight, her only connection to the outside world. Her mind felt drug-distorted, similarly to when she’d been a resident there, and muffled whispers curled around her from every direction. Through her hazy eyes, she could see movement on the walls. It was like staring at the sun and then closing her eyes to see the shadow that had temporarily imprinted itself in her mind.

Alex
. His voice was a vigilant whisper, afraid of startling her.

As if anything could frighten her anymore.

Alex
, the wonderful voice echoed again.
Are you all right?

Depends, Chase.
She answered as though it was perfectly normal to have a conversation in her mind.
Am I alive or not?

Alive. But you’re dreaming.
There was a smile in his voice.

I’m not at the institution?

No. But that was the last place you heard me. Your mind must have taken you there for that reason.

Why can I hear you?

I don’t have an answer for that.

She tried to blink through her dizziness, but her brain felt like a spinning CD. She used to watch enviously when the Lasalles would hold out their arms in their backyard, twirling like tops until they fell to the ground in heaps of laughter. She was not allowed to do such things, but she imagined this was what it felt like.

I’ve been hearing you for months now,
Chase said.
Since I died.

Why didn’t you talk to me before?

I tried. I couldn’t get through.

Alex tried to wiggle her fingers, but they refused to cooperate. How could her ears be working so perfectly and her other senses be so useless?

I’ve missed you,
Chase whispered.

Rain began to drizzle onto Alex’s bed.
You have no idea.

Yes, I do. I just told you I was in your head. I could feel it. Every little bit of it. I’m honestly not sure which was worse, mine or yours.

Then why does it feel better now?
Alex asked.
You’re still not here.

I’m here,
he assured her.
Haven’t you learned yet that your eyes are misleading? Don’t be fooled because you can’t see me.

But—

I won’t be long.
His voice quieted.
Time to wake up now.

In the lingering darkness, Alex could hear the chirping of birds. It was the first indication that her grieving brain hadn’t simply invented the events of yesterday. Birds hadn’t ventured anywhere near to her window since the Lasalles died. Sorrow is contagious, after all.

Reluctantly, Alex opened one eye. She waited for the unfamiliar room to transform, for the image to warp like a painting in a kiln until the colors bled together, melting into her lonely old bedroom in Parrish or the bare walls at the Eskers. Minutes elapsed before she accepted the room as reality.

Wrapping a blanket snugly around her, Alex shuffled to the French doors to gaze out at the town adorned in a gray overcoat of fog, half expecting Chase to be there waiting below her balcony like some paranormal Romeo. The ever-present fog dimmed the pumpkin-orange lights of the street lamps parading down the lane, casting an appropriately spectral glow throughout her literal ghost town.

Even from this distance, her eyes were sharp enough to see the sign on the lamppost that read
Lazuli Street.
The road slept serenely, clean and quiet. There was no indication that the festival had occurred only hours before. From so high up, she could see past Lazuli, where the road forked. The left side curved toward the ball fields. The other veered right and disappeared under an awning of trees.

She guessed the disappearing road led to the two enormous towers in the distance. They melted into one another like a sculptor’s experiment, twisting near the top like a dip in a dance. Elevated tracery tattooed the stonework in green ringlets and wording. Alex lifted her hand toward the dancing building, and even from such a distance she could actually feel the roughness of the gnarled stone. She pulled back her hand in surprise, wondering how she could possibly know how something felt to the touch from miles away.