Sleight (30 page)

But the message in his pages was contradictory to the principles that gave the AVRA-K its power. While the Original Seven embraced the belief that a man is only as strong as his trust in his neighbor, this new book encouraged people to think only of themselves, that each person, though one amongst the masses, was better, more deserving than his neighbor. Survival of the fittest. Kil or be kiled. The book came to be known as The One. It spoke against magic, mysticism, spelmaking, and psychic connections, and pushed modernity, progress, and service of self over community.

Even God came second to man.

“It is the antithesis to the AVRA-K,” Marku said. “I know Henry has told you of this, so you understand my grave concern about the AVRA-K’s protection. Lucian wil use one to bring down the other.

The consequences for the people of the world…very serious.” It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Marku, or Henry. It was just that La Una was so…horrible, its message so against what human beings should believe. And yet, I’d been beating my head against the wal of students in my philosophy class who had swalowed its content, hook, line, and sinker. I’d assumed that their tendency to believe it was because of their environment—smal town, smal-minded parents with smal-town jobs—and because of their general lack of exposure to the outside world. It happened in places where people just didn’t move beyond the tiny borders of their comfort zone.

But then I recaled Mr. Harbourne and Lucian after Sunday’s show, chumming it up like old colege buddies. Harbourne was on the payrol. I’d bet my bow hand on it.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, looking at Marku’s gentle face. “Lucian has turned his back on the very thing that has given him such a long life.”

“He hasn’t turned his back. He stil uses the AVRA-K when it suits him. But his use is not in the spirit of the book, of the lifestyle,” he said, shaking his head and gazing at his intertwined fingers. “It happens with children. They think their parents are old-fashioned, out of touch with the modern world. And while that may be true, it is very sad to see Lucian going the way he is. Very sad.”

“Marku, why did you give Ted the Delacroixs’ book before he came to America with Henry’s mother?”

“I did it to keep the book safe, out of Lucian’s hands. The Delacroix book, that is number seven. Lucian was busy with stealing book number five. I gave Thibeault’s book to Ted so that when Lucian had his hands on that fifth book, his colection would stil be incomplete.”

“He must’ve been mad at you.”

Marku chuckled under his breath. “Mad is too kind a word, dear Gemma.”

“But won’t people know? Won’t they discover that Lucian is a traitor to his origins, that the AVRA-K is what has given him his power and yet, he seeks to destroy his own people? His own family?”

“Tel me, dear. If you didn’t know better, would you believe that men could live for hundreds, or even thousands of years? Would you believe that a book could be magic?”

I sniffed. “No way.”

“Neither wil anyone else. No one wil know because the strength of al the books reunited wil prevent that. It wil give Lucian the power to manipulate people using the magic contained within its pages. He wil become al-powerful. He wil do the job that legions of despots throughout history have failed upon, and spread his message throughout the world. It wil be the end of freedom as we know it.” I recaled my conversation with Henry in the school parking lot—the one where he’d said that Machiaveli and Hitler had studied La Una.

This couldn’t be true.

My chest felt tight.

I searched Marku’s face, desperate to find something that would suggest he was senile, unsteady in his memories, otherwise unreliable as a source of information.

I could find nothing. Nothing but fear. And fatigue.

“Why are you here, teling me this?” My voice was barely audible. I was terrified to hear the answer.

“You are my granddaughter,” he said, reaching over and patting my right hand. “I have waited for a long time to see your face, to hear you play your music, to see you in the flesh. I have been given a gift, a stolen gift, in watching Henry grow. Nutesh did not get that gift.” Marku moved his hand from mine, his index finger lightly tracing the line of my stitches above my brow. As he touched it, the wound tingled. I could feel the exchange of energy jumping from his fingertip to my stil-forming scar.

He lowered his hand, and gave me a gentle smile. “The two of you together are the next generation of two Original Seven families.

You, the descendant of a boy named Balashi, Henry, the descendant of a boy named Nutesh.”

“Your friend, Nutesh…that’s Thibeault Delacroix?” Marku nodded.

“Thibeault is an old man, like me, and he knows it is time for new leadership. Young, powerful, gifted leadership.” He looked down at his hands folded on the tabletop. “It wil be up to you to see this to the end, to curtail the rise of La Una and stop the ascendancy of Lucian. It is your duty to save our people. To save the AVRA-K. To save the world from itself.”

I stared at nothingness, through Marku’s face and into the space behind him, the beige of the bathroom door, the faded chrome of its smal globed handle.

Henry and I had to save the world?

My phone buzzed across the table. A text message. I picked up the phone to stop the vibration but paused before looking at the screen.

“I…I can’t do this. I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. I am nothing but an orphaned circus kid,” I stammered.

“You are so much more than that, Gemma. You are a Dmitri.

The blood of pure and loving people courses through you. You wil not falter, not if you believe in this,” he said, his clenched fist patting the area over his heart. “Together, you and Henry wil prevail.” I looked at the screen on the phone. Henry.

Tel Marku: Lilith is look’g 4 him. Must come home ASAP.

xoxo HD

My tongue felt thick and dry in my mouth. “It’s Henry. You have to go. Lilith is looking for you,” I managed.

Marku chuckled. “That old woman, such a nag,” he said. He gave my hand a final squeeze and pushed himself up from the table.

“And what about Lilith?”

“She is helping our son. But she has no magic, no power. Her heart is a cold stone. Ice runs in her veins.” My body responded, on autopilot, as I helped him into his damp overcoat. He situated the fabric over his shoulders, puled the belt tight around his waist, and turned to face me.

“You are a strong girl. I have been waiting for you for such a long time,” he said, opening his arms and folding me into a hug. It was a nice hug.

After a few seconds, he released me and turned back toward the door, his hands plunged into the deep pockets of his coat.

“Before I go,” he said, facing me once again, “this is for you.” In my hands he placed a heavy chunk of material, irregular in shape, almost trapezoidal. He wrapped his hands around mine, around the block, closed his eyes, and muttered something in an unfamiliar tongue. My gauze-wrapped fingers vibrated under his grasp.

I waited for him to reopen his eyes before speaking. “What is this?” Upon the surface and around the edges were indecipherable etchings in some sort of metal. Bronze, perhaps?

“Keep it safe. Keep it with you always. Show no one. And take it to Thibeault. He wil tel you what to do next.” Marku winked and kissed my right cheek, then the left, before easing himself down the stairs, back into the rain, and out of my line of sight.

I clicked the trailer door shut. I felt stunned, a little confused.

I sat down at the table and inspected the heavy shape he’d given me. The injured fingers of my left hand itched. I peeled off the white cotton mesh.

The blisters were nonexistent, as was any trace that I’d been burned.

Running into the bathroom, I flicked on the light and stared at my face in the reflection, touching my forehead with the tip of my index finger.

The line, where before had been the tiny pink remnants of sutured skin, was gone.

:34:

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

Give warning to the world that I am fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.

—Wiliam Shakespeare, Sonnet 71

I woke up to the wals of the trailer vibrating. It was thundering, the sky exploding in bursts of angry, loud energy, garnished with jolts of eye-searing lightning, not only the jagged, sky-splitting kind but the superbright, light-the-world-up flashy kind. Pyrotechnics and percussion played us through breakfast.

“We wil be doing an early rehearsal this morning, and then Ted and I have business at the bank,” Marlene said. “If I’m late picking you up, don’t worry. I’l be there soon enough, so just wait out front.”

I nodded, not happy about their agreement to continue on with the Roulette act given the luck over the weekend when no one had been stabbed, but Lucian wanted it, and Lucian always got what he wanted. I considered asking Marlene to keep me home for the day, as another day at school without Henry seemed like no day at al.

Just the annoying conversations from the gossip fiends to infiltrate the recesses of my skul. And those shades…the three children.

Please don’t let them find me today. I fiddled with my iPod in my pocket, dreading the thought of spending six and a half hours hiding behind music with the volume at levels that endangered my auditory health.

Despite the angry weather, hope sprung eternal as Marlene puled into the school and I saw Henry’s car parked in its spot. He was here! He was somewhere in the school!

I ran from the car with barely a goodbye to my aunt and pushed through the crowded stairs to get to my locker. As I rounded the corner, my heart sweled. Henry was there, waiting, his head down in a book. He looked up. When we made eye contact, he ran toward me in the hal. We colided, nearly knocking over a girl bent down in front of her locker, and he lifted me off the ground.

“You’re back,” I said.

“I’m back.” He twirled me around, his face buried in my hair.

“Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much—” His kiss cut me off midsentence and brought about an immediate surge in the stream of audible commentary of everyone around us. The halway was dark as the power had been knocked out by the storm, but a bank of lights down the middle of the corridor, powered by an emergency generator, provided enough ilumination for me to see Henry’s tired, weary face.

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good,” I said.

“I’ve got a brutal headache, but I’m fine. God, I’ve missed you, G.” He hoisted me off the ground again and burrowed into my neck. I was consumed by delicious chils.

“How did you manage to escape?” He set me down again and grabbed my hands. Now that we were together, now that he was standing in front of me breathing the same air, I wanted to stitch him to my body so we’d never have to be apart again.

“Lucian left town this morning. Lilith got tired of babysitting me, and I told her I had a math test, so she let me out of the dungeon.”

“I need to talk to you…about so much.” A teacher at the end of the hal blew his whistle, in place of the bel that was not working.

No power, no bels.

“I know. Class first.” Henry leaned into me and kissed my forehead.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and we walked into math, but he seemed lethargic, subdued, his hand warm but with an edge to his energy. We sat together, books open, pencils ready, but whenever the lightning flashed, Henry flinched in his seat.

I puled a piece of paper out of my binder and jotted down a note for him—Astrapophobia much? Fear of lightning and thunder—and tossed it onto his desk when Poole’s back was turned.

Nerd, he wrote back, holding up the paper for me to see. I giggled. I couldn’t deny the sudden boost in my attitude at Henry’s reappearance. I just wished we could run off and hide somewhere.

It was hard to have him this close and not be able to spil my guts about everything that had happened.

Another flash lit up the class. Henry twitched and his breathing grew shalow.

Summer Day—I saw something. She’s evil, I wrote on another piece. He nodded at me and mouthed the word later.

Poole continued on with binomial coefficients, jotting down Pascal’s triangle on the board. A particularly heated burst of lightning lit up the room and drew gasps from the students. Poole didn’t miss a beat.

The thunder shook the ceiling, the light fixtures swaying ever so slightly, the rumble effectively drowning out Poole’s voice so that he had to repeat his previous sentence once the growl ceased.

Just as class was about to end, from the corner of my eye, I saw Henry shudder hard. Startled, I looked over just as he tipped sideways in his chair and crashed onto the floor, his head smacking into the tile-covered concrete. He started convulsing, his eyes wide with fear, his face contorted. His forehead and upper lip were soaked with sweat.

“What’s happening?” one of the girls next to me yeled, terrified.

“Mr. Poole!” The class rose from their desks, many of them puling back away from Henry, to give his body space to thrash about.

I was by his side before Mr. Poole even realized what was happening.

“Henry, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re okay. Hang on. Hold my hand. Henry, look at me,” I chanted to him over and over. I heard the bounce of Poole’s dry erase pen as it hit the floor. He was at the classroom’s intercom phone, caling the office to send the nurse right away.

“Back up!” I yeled as Henry’s body slowed its jerky movements. “Give him some room!” An unknown hand touched my shoulder and as I turned, a girl pushed a box of tissue toward me. I snatched a few and gave her a grateful look.

I dabbed the spit from Henry’s mouth and gently caressed his wet forehead with my hand. The energy surging from his hands was painfuly cold, and he was a scary white.

The nurse entered the room with the principal close behind. I scurried to the opposite side of Henry’s body to make room for them.

“Henry, Henry, you’re going to be fine. Can you focus on me?” the nurse said, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “Can you hear my voice?”

Henry turned his face toward the nurse but then found me standing just behind.