::9::
Unexpected Return
I’ll never admit it, but for once Turner’s right. The shower makes me feel about twenty-five percent better. The other seventy-five percent is a lost cause. Only one person can rectify those losses.
I twist to look at my back in the mirror. My skin resembles ground hamburger meat. The elongated scrapes and gashes really do need medical attention.
I slip into my cotton shorts and slide on a button-down top, backward, leaving the back open like a hospital gown. It will be easier for Turner to look at my back and better if nothing touches it.
Turner relaxes on the couch with his feet up when I walk into the living room. Adjacent sits a tray of hot tea and a first aid kit.
“Feel better?”
I shrug, with no definitive answer, still traumatized by the thought of losing Bishop. One of Bishop’s old letters sits on the coffee table, opened. Turner’s been reading it. This annoys me to no end but, unlike other times, I don’t have the urge to fight.
Turner hands me a cup of tea. “The caffeine will kill the schlag long enough for me to tape your back.”
“Tape?”
“From what I saw, you would’ve been better off with a stitch or two in a few areas. But it’s too late now. We’ll have to use medical tape to pull the skin back together.”
I finish my tea and sit next to him, facing away from his face. I pull my hair aside, letting it fall over one shoulder. His fingers lightly graze my skin as he folds each half of the shirt to the side to analyze the injury.
“How’s it look?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Ghastly. What happened?” He picks up the bottle of antiseptic and cotton balls and continues working with a lithe touch. The liquid stings, but I try to be strong.
“We were in London, near Nine Elms, I think. It began to rain, and the schlag started getting to me. Bishop wanted to run to your house.”
“Our house? Really?” He seems surprised.
“Yes, he wanted me to stay—
to talk.
” I tremble at the words but keep moving. “All of a sudden, he went all Protector-ish. He sat me on the ground and this person jumped him. They fought, and I tried to help.”
“Of course you did.” He rubs in more ointment.
“During the fight I must have passed out because the next thing I know, the attacker is dragging me across the pavement on my back.” I cringe.
“Who was it?”
“Didn’t see.”
“What did they want?”
“I don’t know. He—she—whoever took off with my jacket and shirt.”
“Ah, I see. So someone attacked you and Bishop to render you topless. Pervert!” He chuckles.
I roll my eyes.
“What does Bishop think?”
“I have no clue. We haven’t talked about it yet.”
“Hmm.” He doesn’t elaborate on his thoughts, but I can hear the mental gears grinding.
His fingers stretch out several long strips of white tape. He bites each piece off with his teeth then places them firmly in selective spots on my skin.
“Done,” he announces. He tosses the spool into the medical kit.
“Thanks.” I turn to him.
Turner places his hand on my leg. His touch warms my knee, causing tingles to radiate at the point of contact. Confused, I recoil. “Are you flirting with me? Bishop’s gonna—”
“What? Now that he’s breaking up with you he shouldn’t care one bit if I make a play for his girl,” he says seriously.
My lips turn down at the corners, and I look away, stifling a sob.
“Sorry. That was very insensitive.” He turns my face to his and strokes a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “I promise, he will
never
break up with you.”
“How do you know? You two don’t talk—at all.”
“I know because if you were mine, I’d never let you go.” He looks at me with his intense gray eyes. They communicate silently, saying the words that can never be said out loud. Those implicit thoughts keep the air surrounding us thick with tension. Deep down, all along, I’ve known that Turner has feelings for me. His irritating ways are just his twisted attempts at flirting. I’m merely the schoolgirl with long pigtails, and he’s the boy pulling them.
I look away. “Is that why you’re being nice to me now?”
“I’m always nice to you.”
“Really?” I pause and look at him. “Then give back my necklace.”
“I will, when you explain what you’re doing with it.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Startled, I look over my shoulder. Samantha James, my Seer, stands at the door in a blue suit that makes her look like a young Grace Kelly. She’s grown half a foot taller over the summer, lengthening her already graceful posture.
“You’re back early,” I say, hoping she hasn’t seen our silent exchange.
“Happy to see you, too, Sera.” Sam glides forward. “This place looks like a disaster zone. I guess I can’t expect anything more from you.”
“Like I said,
you’re early
.”
She leans onto the back of the couch, arms stretched wide to each side. Her eyes assess the lack of space between Turner and me. The two of them exchange a curt glance, and I quickly stand.
“What happened to you?” she says, now eyeing my back. “You two fighting again?” She smirks, knowing the typical turbulence between us.
“Really, I’m too tired to explain.” I wrap my arms across the front of my body and walk to my room. I trip on a backpack sitting on the floor between the couch and the kitchen. The schlag’s back. “Turner can fill you in.” I yawn. “I’m going to bed.”
•
When my eyes open, I know I’ve slept late into the next day. Dust flutters in the air near the window. Warmth of the afternoon sun beams into my room. A vacuum cleaner bangs against the wall in the living room, reminding me that Sam’s home.
I’m happy for the schlag. Without it, I’m certain I would not have slept last night. My brain would have been too consumed with the uneasy events of the last twenty-four hours. On top of everything, Bishop’s due back later today; this alone puts me on edge. I can’t avoid him forever.
The vacuum turns off and a stereo flips on. Bach blasts through the apartment. “Air on the G String,” Bishop’s favorite. I’m sure Sam’s irritating me on purpose—to wake me.
I drag myself off my stomach to a standing position then stumble for the door. I fling it open. “All right, I’m up! You can turn it down now!” I yell.
The music pops off. I look around for Sam, knowing she’ll say something snarky. Instead, I see Bishop sitting on the floor with a screwdriver in his hand. He’s fixing the doorknob.
“Sorry.” He scurries to stand. “Sam told me you weren’t here.” He tosses the screwdriver in a toolbox.
How late is it?
I glance at the clock in my room. Three thirty. I stand in shock as he crosses the room. He reaches out and rubs my shoulders with his hands and kisses my forehead. I can’t decipher if the kiss is platonic, because my emotions have been rendered lifeless by my crying. If something has changed between us, I still don’t understand why.
“What time did you get back?”
“About two hours ago.”
“You came early.” I avert my eyes.
“Yes, there’s something we need to talk about, and it can’t wait any longer.”
My heart sinks. This cannot be it. I won’t let it. “I—I—I—can’t right now. I’m going to be late for an appointment with, um, Terease!” Yes, I’m supposed to be in her office by four.
“Okay.” He pauses. “Are you feeling all right? Because you left in such a hurry the other morning, we really didn’t get a chance to hash out what happened with the attacker. How’s your back?”
“Great!” I gush. “But I really need to get a quick shower and get dressed. You know how Terease freaks if you’re late.”
“Okay, but promise me you will come straight back.”
Nervously I shake my head. Having
the talk
is the last thing I want. I step backward into my room and shut the door in his concerned face.
Twenty minutes later, I run out the apartment, avoiding all eye contact with Bishop, then hurl myself down the hall.
The doors to the apartments are open, showing signs of life. Students roam about, congregating in familiar circles, recounting their summer activities.
When I reach the end of the hall and finally turn the corner into the main atrium, my body screeches to a halt. I stand, stupefied, looking at the person in front of me. Someone I thought I’d never lay eyes on again.
::10::
Aunt Mona
Perpetua Gray leans against the wall with her hand on her hip. Her steely eyes bore right through me. Before I can react, she walks up and shoves me. She grabs my shirt at the collar with tightened fists, muscling me across the floor.
“Where’s my crystal, witch?” she yells and forces me back down the hall. She bashes me against the marble wall and I cringe as my injuries scream at me. An eerie silence shoots through the corridor. Every student turns to watch.
I glance down at her hands twisted into the shoulders of my shirt. I look up at her and smile, taunting her, even though I have absolutely no idea what crystal she’s talking about. How does she even have the guts to show her snotty face here?
I know what I want to do, what I
can
do—destroy her. With my enhanced fighting abilities, I can trash her in a millisecond.
I whip my arm through the air, easily rotating her into a headlock. Perpetua screams, either from pain or from shock. I hope it’s both. My foot swings, and I sweep her legs, dropping her body to the floor with a heavy thwack.
“Sera!” I instinctively look for the voice. Bishop races down the hall, moving at light speed. Immediately I let go of Perpetua, allowing her to regain the upper hand. Bishop can’t see what I’m capable of—not yet.
She kicks the back of my knees, and I fall to the ground with the breath knocked out of me and I roll over. She pounds and beats at my chest, but Bishop tears her off before she can render too much damage. I scramble away, still huddled on the floor. He holds her, restraining her in a death grip. Students move closer to get a better view. Turner appears in the crowd, face flushed and clearly upset.
“Who let you back in?” I yell at her.
“Terease!” she spits. “I want my crystal back!” Bishop holds her elbows from behind. She pulls away from him, kicking ferociously in my direction.
Turner grabs my elbow, helping me up from the floor. At the small gesture, Bishop’s eyes flicker a warning.
Bishop leans into Perpetua and whispers something. Whatever he says, it works, because she finally relents and stops fighting. Even still, her eyes say it all. Wherever this crystal is, the one she thinks I have, it’s important.
“Let me go.” Perpetua jerks away from Bishop. Now free, she shoots me a murderous look. Without another word, she twirls and stomps away, marching down the hall, and enters her old apartment. Her team—Stu, her Wanderer, and Jessica, her Seer, follow her. The door slams shut behind them.
My mouth hangs open at the realization that she’s back. Her entire team is back! The Academy has readmitted them. Terease readmitted them! Even after they tricked Bishop and me into a meeting with the Underground, where we almost died last semester.
“What did you say to her?” I look at Bishop in confusion.
“I simply told her you don’t have her crystal.” His gaze swings from me to Turner and hardens. “Don’t you have a meeting with Terease?” he snaps.
“Yes.” I nod and hurry away.
I charge down the sweeping stairs, through the grand atrium, past the indoor pool, and into the maze of teachers’ offices. Terease’s office sits behind a glass-plated wall. Unable to control my temper, I bang on the glass before I stalk in. She’s in a meeting with two men dressed in black suits.
“You let Perpetua, Stu, and Jessica back into school? Are you out of your flippin’ mind?” I point at her, my lower lip trembles with hatred. Crossing Terease in this manner means you have a death wish.
She rises from her desk, nostrils flaring. “Leave us!” she yells to the men. They jump from their seats, examining me with curious expressions as they go.
“Sit!”
I pace for a second, burning off more fury. Finally, when I think a chair can contain my anger, I sit.
“I know you will find this hard to believe, but I wanted to tell you she was returning before she got here. That’s why I asked you to my office today.”
“How can you even think it’s a good idea to let her back in? Any of them?” My blood rushes toward my hands, where I’m clenching the desk’s edge.
Terease sits down, taking her time to answer. She swivels to face the wall, glancing at TV monitors. They feed video from the security cameras, the E.Y.E.S. She spins again, her silky cropped hair flinging around with her as she does.
“The Academy was able to, shall we say, secure certain information that will lead us to Cece and the Underground. And that information is worth quite a lot.” Her red lips turn up at one corner.
“And what does that have to do with Perpetua?” I cross my arms and stare.
“Perpetua exchanged information on Cece’s whereabouts for her and her team’s return to the Academy.”
“You let her bribe her way back into school?”
“Call it what you want.” Her lips purse.
I stop to consider the information. If Terease knows Cece’s location, then she knows my mom’s. Maybe I won’t need the rosary necklace after all.
“I want in,” I blurt.
“What?”
“When you go to find her. I want to be there,” I say plainly. I know Terease will want to be the one to drag the redheaded, blood-loving freak in, and I want to be there too.
Terease bites her long black fingernail and rotates to the TVs as though she’s considering my offer. After several moments she simply says, “No.”
“What!” I jump to my feet.
“I said, no!” she repeats. “Now, leave.” She waves her hand but never turns to face me. She only leans into one of the pictures dancing across a monitor, hoping to catch someone doing something they shouldn’t.
I consider telling her that Perpetua just beat me up, but I know it won’t do any good. Angry, I bolt through the hall, and march right out the front doors of the Academy. If Terease can admit Perpetua back into school, she can admit me a free pass out of this place—alone.
As I leave, racing down the front stairs, I glance over to the mirror school. The west Washington Square Academy, the one for the
Normals
. They have absolutely no clue how lucky they are to be just that—normal. And for the first time since I learned that I’m a Wanderer, I wish I were normal too.
I run out of the courtyard, past the obelisk, with no particular destination in mind. Physical activity helps release my anxieties. Thankful that I put on tennis shoes, I open my stride, running and pushing my muscles. I inhale the September Chicago breeze and decide not to look back, at least for a few hours.
Running around the city allows me to feel ordinary. I think about things that I generally don’t when I’m locked away in the inner sanctum of the school: the smell of pizza, parents playing with their children in the park, cars sitting in traffic, a shopkeeper sweeping his front walk, and music.
Even music, the thing that I loved most in my “Normal” life has taken a backseat to my Wandering life. The urge to write, to sing, to create a melody are gone. Finding my mom, being a Wanderer, becoming a better fighter, Bishop, and every other high school drama consumes my mind. There’s no place for music now. The speed at which my priorities in life have changed scares me. What will I be a year from now? Ten years? Will I even recognize myself?
When I return to school, it’s three hours later. I calculate that I’ve run at least the length of a marathon, maybe more. Somehow, in the last several months, my physical prowess has changed, along with my heightened emotional volatility.
I walk around the golden obelisk in the school’s courtyard. I reach my arms high above my head and shake out my legs. Unfortunately, no amount of stretching will save me from the world of ache I’ll feel tomorrow. I bend over and touch my toes, feeling the scabs on my back pull and crack.
Sensing someone staring, I glance at the East Academy. Bishop stands at his bedroom window, looking out, his face expressionless. One hand rests on the window frame. He doesn’t wave or acknowledge that our eyes have met. He only turns and disappears from view, letting the curtains drape closed.
I can’t run away from him forever. And if he’s bent on breaking up, I’ll have to accept it. The run has given me some clarity, allowing a peaceful place for my emotions to be dealt with in a logical way. If he doesn’t want to be with me, it’s not healthy for me to want to be with him. It’s that simple. I’m only sixteen, with my whole life ahead of me. Will I really die if a stupid boy breaks up with me?
I consider this and look at Bishop’s window. My nose burns again, but I push away the waterworks. Yes, yes, it might kill me, and I’m certain I can’t handle it, at least not at this very moment. So I keep moving, walking to a place I know I can find sanctuary—Aunt Mona’s house.
A few blocks away, I stroll past the front hedges and into the miniature yard of the Victorian townhouse. I squat, feeling under Mona’s mosaic-covered garden sculpture. A silver key lays among the earthworms and beetles, resting in the damp earth. I scoop it up and head for the front door.
After I enter, I kick off my sneakers in the vestibule and step into the main living area. A pile of mismatched tapestry suitcases lay on the floor. Aunt Mona’s back from her painting trip in Europe.
“Mona!” I yell, my voice echoing through the lofty living space.
“Oh, darling!” Mona rushes in from the kitchen with a smile across her face. She tucks a strawberry-blonde lock behind her ear, right before she throws her bony arms around my back. She offers me a kiss on each cheek then holds me away from her body.
“Your face is flushed red!”
“I just went for the longest run of my life.”
“Funny, I don’t remember you being a runner when I left.” Her brow furrows in confusion.
“Helps to relieve stress. I’ve got lots these days.” I try to smile. I forgot how easy it is to open up to her. In my mind, I’d always hoped that she and my mom were very similar in this way. They had to be, being sisters and all.
“Come in, I’m making dinner,” Mona says. I follow her to the kitchen.
“
You
—making dinner—the real kind?” I balk.
“Well, I decided to expand my horizons this year. Not only did I paint in Italy, I took an exquisite cooking class!”
“Sweet! So what’s on the menu?”
“Pasta alla Norma.” She drops an apron over her head, securing the ties behind her neck and her waist.
Mona pours herself a large glass of red wine and a soda for me. I sit on a stool at the island across from her. I grab the butcher block, knife, and vegetables. Taking an eggplant, I slice off the ends and then cut it longways into thin slices.
“So what’s the drama?” Mona asks, then swirls her wine in its glass. She holds the rim to her nose, inhaling the aromas before taking a small sip.
“You wouldn’t be interested.” I shrug, looking at my eggplant.
“Try me.” She expertly rips basil leaves from their stems.
“Well, for one, Terease readmitted Perpetua and her team.”
“Really? What would compel her to do such a horrid thing?”
“Perpetua seems to have some information on Cece’s whereabouts.” I peek up to gauge her reaction.
“Really? Well, that would be wonderful if the Society could finally do away with her.” She throws some fresh pasta into the boiling water on the stove. “How do you feel about it?” A typical Mona question, always pushing to explore my feelings.
“I can’t say that it thrills me.” But if there’s a possibility it will help find my mom, I think I can live with it.
“And what else is going on?” she asks, and reaches for a clove of garlic. She pounds it with the flat side of a large knife. The skin cracks open, and she peels the outer layer.
I fail to find the correct words to explain why I believe Bishop’s going to break up with me without sounding like a pathetic, angst-ridden teenager. So I just blurt it out. “Bishop’s breaking up with me!” I drop my head into my hands, but I don’t cry. I’m too dry to make anything else come out.
“What? That’s absurd.”
“It’s true. He said that we ‘needed to talk.’ And everyone knows what that’s code for.”