Thresholds (12 page)

“Does it mean you’ll order me around even more than you already have?” she asked Harper.

He smiled. “Probably,” he said. “We’re the Elders. We have that power. We try to use it only when necessary.”

Maya paused, then said, “If people in your family can’t travel farther than thirty miles from the portal—I don’t—Will I be trapped, too?”

“That won’t happen to you, child,” said the star-earring Tree Sister. “You are not of our blood. You don’t have our restrictions knitted into your bones. You will be our choice child, not our blood child.”

“Can’t I do the
giri
thing, like Travis? Find out what’s going on here and just not talk about it?”

“That’s not enough,” Harper said. “You have been touched and changed by something that came through a portal, though it wasn’t one of ours. Portals are our business. We can’t abandon you unhelped. A family tie will give us extra ways to aid you.” He sighed and said, “Well, give it some thought. In the meantime, I will take another precaution.” He came and knelt in front of her. “Maya, Travis,” he said, “stick out your tongues.”

They did it. He was being an Elder again: Maya didn’t know how
not
to do it. Travis, beside her, opened his mouth, too, and stuck his tongue out, his face a picture of surprise, changing to panic. It was the first time Harper had used command power on Travis, Maya thought. No wonder he was surprised.

Harper tapped each of their tongues with his thumb.

A taste of licorice crossed Maya’s tongue, and she felt a prickly shock shoot through her. Harper’s hand lifted before the egg could strike back. “There’s your silence,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Neither of you can speak about what you’ve seen to outsiders now. Maya, Rowan is right: draw all you like, but leave the pictures here. Travis, we will have a more formal meeting and lay out the articles of
giri
agreement soon. Maya, if you let us make you part of our family, we’ll introduce you to all of us and have a welcoming celebration for you . . . after we have a full council meeting about the Krithi, which I will call tonight. We have a lot of work to do.”

“What’s with these Krithi, anyway?” Maya asked. “Why is everybody so mad at them?”

“Centuries ago, we opened portals to the Krithi home-world. They took over those portals, closed some, and used others to conquer. We didn’t have a very organized council then, and we didn’t discover what they had done until two generations later, when they had killed or enslaved all the people on their conquest planet. When we found out what they had done, we undid it as best we could, shut their portals, and banned their species from ever traveling portalwise again. It’s the worst punishment we know.

“Now it appears they’ve found a way around our barriers. We need whatever you can tell us about their plans.”

“I’ve told you
everything,” Maya said.

“You may know more than you know, and your companion might know things as well.”

She covered the egg with her hand. How could he question it? He didn’t know it could talk. She didn’t want him to know. If he knew, maybe he would be able to order the egg around, too.

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow. I have another gift I’d like to give you.”

Silence was a gift, she supposed, though she still wasn’t sure how it was going to work. “Yeah? I don’t like your gifts. Can I say no this time?” she asked.

“You may.” He reached into the folds of his orange robe, pulled out something. “It will help if you accept this one, though. Hold out your hand.”

“Just show me, okay? ” She didn’t want him to tap her hand and cast some other kind of spell on her.

He showed her a little ring of braided silver, gold, and copper. “This can connect you to us. Choose a finger for it. You can use it to call us when you need us, and it will tell us where you are.”

“A tracker,” she said. Like the GPS in her phone, only the Janus House protection stopped the phone’s signal from getting out, and nobody could use it to find her while she was inside. If she wore a Janus House tracking device, bossy Elders would know where to find her. Well, if she didn’t want them to, she could take it off, same way she could ditch her phone.

He nodded. “A tracker. A key to open doors here.” He dropped it into her hand.

It fizzed against her palm, then went quiet. She held it close to her egg. The egg didn’t spark or turn dark, so maybe it was okay.

She took a big breath and slid the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly.

“Thank you,” Harper said. “Travis, we will discuss whether you want one of these when we have our formal meeting.” His shoulders relaxed, which made Maya realize he might be as tense about all this as she was. “Maya, this will help until we make you part of our family. After that, we will be connected in other ways. For now, I would like to send Gwenda home with you.”

“Why?” Maya wasn’t sure how to explain to her parents about bringing a guest home on her first day of school. Nobody in her family did that, although they were a guest-friendly household. Everybody needed time to settle into their new routine.

Plus, it felt more like Harper was sending a spy, rather than a friend.

“We don’t know much about
sissimi
, but we have learned this much: The
sissimi
has bonded to you. It bonds close to its hatching time. We have no clear information on what the hatching entails, but the event is imminent,” Harper said. “Wouldn’t you like some help when that happens?”

“Yes,” said Maya. “Oh, yes.” Her right hand covered her egg, a gesture that was becoming a habit. She had forgotten that she wasn’t going to have the egg on her arm forever.

The egg gave a sleepy purr. She peeked under her hand and saw that it had turned rose red, with small yellow flowers.

“Gwenda?” Harper said. “Are you ready for this task?”

“Yes, Uncle. Well, I need my bag.”

He smiled and stood. He waved a hand. “You may go.”

At least it wasn’t an order, Maya thought, repacking her sketchpad.

Rowan stopped her and held out his hand.

She glared at him.

“I’ll keep it safe for you. You can have it back as soon as you get here,” he said, and for once he didn’t look mean or angry, just serious.

She sighed and handed him the sketchpad.

Gwenda and Benjamin led Travis and Maya back to Benjamin’s apartment.

Maya was tired and hungry again. It was almost six P.M., way past curfew.

“I know it’s late. I’ll be right back.” Gwenda left.

Benjamin, Travis, and Maya stood in Benjamin’s living room.

“Um,” said Maya.

“First day of school. Epic,” said Travis. “This year is
so
going to be different.”

“I’m sorry you got such a rough start,” Benjamin said to Maya. “It’s probably not what you want to hear, but I’m glad you sat with us, Maya.”

She tried out a smile. It felt almost natural.

“Gotta go,” said Travis. “I’m way beyond late, and now I have a
ton
of things to talk over with Oma. I wonder if that tongue thing the old dude did to us will mess that up. See you tomorrow.” He waved and strode out just as Gwenda returned. She had a bulging tapestry bag over her shoulder.

“Wait, Travis!” Benjamin called. Travis paused with his hand on the knob of the entrance door. “You have to clean up before you leave. Jump up and down on this.” He pointed to a thick, woven, bristly mat to the left of the double doorway. “You have to do this every time you leave the building, if you’ve been below.”

“I’ll show you.” Gwenda stepped onto the mat, shuffled her feet, shook out her skirts, shirt, and shawl, then combed her fingers through her hair. Particles of gleaming, fragrant dust dropped to the carpet and vanished. A very localized breeze swept around her, drawing even more gilt dust from her clothing. “Do the stop, stomp, and shake. It’s how we leave the
chikuvny
at home.”

Travis looked down at his jeans and T-shirt, shrugged, then stepped onto the mat. The wind lifted his hair. “Stellar,” he said, trying out dance moves or maybe martial arts stances before brushing his hands over his shoulders, chest, and legs.

Maya looked at the sleeves of her hoodie. Not much fairy dust. She stepped onto the mat when Travis stepped off, and slapped her jeans, shook her backpack. The mat sucked air and gold dust down into itself. “Whoa!” Maya said, dancing.

 

 

 

“Maya!” cried Mom as Maya and Gwenda came in through the kitchen door, which was unlocked, to Maya’s relief.

Maya shoved her left hand into her pocket and cradled her egg against her side.

“Where have you been?” Dad demanded. “We were about to call the police!”

“Candra’s out looking for you right now,” Mom said.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Maya said.

“Maya got sick on the way home from school and stopped at my house,” said Gwenda. “I’m Gwenda, and I live next door.” She waved toward Janus House. “We were closer, and my aunt’s a doctor.”

“You’re sick?” Mom came and felt Maya’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you all right now?”

“I think—”

“What happened?”

“I—” Her eyes heated. Tears spilled.

“Did someone hurt you? What happened?” Mom hugged her. Dad came and put his arms around her, too.

“I think I’m okay now. I’m so sorry I’m late.”

“But you’re okay?” Dad asked.

Maya rubbed her eye with her right fist and nodded. “I’m better now.”

“When you didn’t call—” Dad said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“She did try to call. Our house has a tin roof. No cell service, and most of us don’t have phones,” said Gwenda. “If it happens again, I’ll send one of my cousins over to let you know where she is.”

“Did your aunt say what was wrong with her?” Mom asked.

“A blood sugar and stress thing, nothing serious or permanent.”

“Stress? Oh, honey, I thought you were finished with—”

Maya was stunned by how good a liar Gwenda was. She realized Mom must be thinking about how sad, angry, and distracted Maya had been last spring and summer. Sometimes she slept for twelve or thirteen hours. Other times she would be going along fine, and suddenly she would stagger, remembering that Stephanie was gone. Tears had come when she was in the middle of singing some song Stephanie had loved and used to harmonize with, or in response to a stupid ad on TV. How strange grief had been, ambushing her at random moments.

The egg purred. She wondered what color it was now, but she couldn’t look. She felt reassured and calmed by the gentle vibration.

“Guess not,” Maya said to her mother.

Peter rushed in from the dining room. “You’re here!” he said.

“Yep. Sorry I’m late.”

“I set the table. It’s your turn! You get to do it tomorrow instead of me!”

“Will do,” said Maya. “Thanks, Peter.”

Dad called Candra’s cell phone to let her know Maya was home.

Mom finally released Maya.

“Mom, this is Gwenda Janus,” Maya said. “She’s in some of my classes. Gwenda, my mom, Liz, and my dad, Drew. My little brother Peter, the one who likes animals.”

“I remember. Nice to meet you, Peter, Mrs. Andersen, Mr. Andersen,” Gwenda said. She shook hands with Maya’s parents.

“Can Gwenda stay for supper?” Maya asked.

Mom turned to Dad, and one of those looks passed between them where Maya knew they were talking without words. They smiled at each other and nodded. “All right,” said Mom. “Hurry and wash up. Supper’s ready. We’ll eat as soon as Candra gets back. I’ll go set another place.”

Maya led Gwenda toward the downstairs bathroom, but Gwenda said, “Can I see your room?”

“Huh? Okay.” Maya headed up the staircase, and Gwenda followed. “Hey, can you eat our food? I didn’t have a chance to ask.”

Gwenda nodded. “Sure. We just have to eat some food spiced with
palta
every day—travelers’ spice—to keep us healthy as things come through the portal, and I had some
palta
at lunch. Now you’ve had some, too.”

Maya pressed her hand to her belly, thinking of vinegar soup and pound cake.

“And a good thing, too,” Gwenda murmured, glancing along the upstairs hallway. They were alone. “Great-Uncle Harper didn’t even ask. He took you and Travis down to the portal without knowing whether you’d been immunized.”

“Immunized?”

“Sure. More things come through the portals than the people we’re transporting. Air. Insects. Microscopic creatures. Energies. Other stuff. The trap rings catch most of it, but we have to be careful.”

“Did Travis get any, uh,
palta
? He didn’t eat.”

“It was in the root beer, too.” Gwenda smiled. “There’s a little in everything we make. He didn’t drink much root beer, but he got some. Enough.”

Maya opened the door to her bedroom. She wished she’d picked up the room this morning, but who knew visitors were coming? Yesterday’s clothes lay on the floor by the closet, along with a couple of shirts she’d tried on last night before settling on the one she was wearing. The desk was a mess, art stuff scattered all over it. She hadn’t made her bed.

Gwenda didn’t look at any of that. She studied the floor. There was a throw rug by Maya’s bed and another next to the bookcase, but most of the floor was varnished wood.

Gwenda went to the bookcase and turned back the rug. “May I make a portal here?”

“What?”

“This is what I’m good at.” Gwenda straightened, stared into Maya’s eyes, then looked toward the window, her head tilted. “My best skill so far.” She spoke without looking at Maya, and her voice sounded toneless. “I can make little local portals.”

“Really? How does that—I mean, how?”

Gwenda shrugged, still facing away. “It’s the family business. It’s been bred in our blood since ancient times to have some kind of skill that applies to portalkeeping. It’s in the air we breathe at home—
chikuvny
—and it’s in the
palta
that spices our food, the dust of other worlds with a touch of the in-between. We study every skill until a particular aptitude shows up. Mine came early. It’s not the skill I would have chosen.”