Shadow Train (29 page)

“That was beautiful, child,” she said. “Only I don't think your daddy's gonna like it. It's hard to control something that won't stay put.”

“Maybe. But I'm not sure it's developed enough for me to go back in time and get my mom,” Aimee said.

“Back in time?” Kate asked.

“Yeah. She's in Middleburg in 1877.” Aimee looked at Lily Rose. “What do you think? Is there any way I can do it?”

Lily Rose pursed her lips, pondering the question. “I don't know much about your particular brand of magic, Aimee,” she said. “But I know of a book that might.” She got up, went to her bedroom, and came back with a large black leather-bound volume. Aimee remembered seeing her with it before, when she was just a little girl and Lily Rose had come to babysit her. Now she set the book in front of Aimee and opened it.

Aimee looked down at the page and was surprised to find that it was blank. Or not blank exactly—it wasn't merely an empty piece of paper. It was a three-dimensional, swirling world of drifting white, like a billowing cumulus cloud.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered.

“Open your mind, and let the words come,” Lily Rose advised.

Aimee did, going into the same meditative state that someone, not so long ago, had taught her to achieve. After a moment, words began to form on the page.

All time is one in the mind of the All

If space is North, South, East and West

Then time is rise or fall

Its gravity pulls us to all our tomorrows

But to climb against gravity requires some power

Aimee read the passage aloud and then looked around the table. “What do you think it means?” she asked.

“Power,” Dalton said. “Maybe you need all the pieces of the ring. The guys are thinking they need it to get Raphael back, too.”

At the name—Raphael—something tugged at Aimee's heart. He was the boy they said she'd gone to the dance with, but she couldn't remember him clearly. And she didn't have time to worry about it. She'd figure it out after she got to her mom.

“The pieces of the ring are scattered all over,” she said. “I have one and I know Dalton has one—”

“And I have one,” put in Miss Pembrook.

“Okay, so that's three,” said Aimee. “How are we going to gather the rest of them up?”

“I don't know—yet,” said Lily Rose. “It may be that you don't need all of them to get where you got to go. While we're trying to figure it out, I think there's one good service you might be able to perform that would greatly benefit someone very special. Are you able to take things with you when you—what did you call it? Slip? Besides your clothes, I mean?”

Aimee nodded. “Yes. I've taken Orias. And the ring. I'm the one who got it out of its underground vault. What else? I brought some luggage along when we went to Paris. Just a couple of small suitcases.”

Lily Rose was smiling.

“That will do just fine,” she said. “Why don't you ladies come with me? We're going to watch Miss Aimee perform a miracle.”

Chapter 20

It was almost nine thirty when Nass
walked into Rack 'Em Billiards Hall. Out of habit, he looked around the place, expecting to see Raphael wiping down tables or hauling buckets of ice behind the bar. When he remembered his friend wasn't there, the realization left him feeling even more bereft than he had a moment before. The crowd was sparser than usual, and Nass guessed that the evictions and layoffs that had been plaguing the Flats didn't leave the residents any extra cash to spend on eating out.

He found his friends back near the pinball machine at what had become the Flatliners table. Josh was still wearing his polo shirt from the Ban-Waggon. There was a mostly empty plate in front of him, populated only by a few straggling fries. He stared into the dark liquid in the mug in front of him—probably root beer, Nass guessed—as if it were a crystal ball that held the solution to all the Flatliner's problems, and he'd be able to see it if he could just stare hard enough. Beet and Benji sat across from him with a deck of cards playing
Speed
.

None of them noticed Nass until he'd sat down heavily next to Josh. Beet and Benji looked at him, and Benji began gathering up the cards.

“Why you guys look so depressed?” Nass asked. “I mean, other than the fact that one of us Davids is going to have to take on Goliath tonight?” As he said the words he got an image of Rick as he had looked during their last fight, in the snowstorm, viciously beating down everyone who tried to get in his way—except Raphael.

“Should I tell him, or do you want to?” Beet asked Josh. Josh shrugged.

“The government guys got Josh's ring shard, too.” Beet said.

Nass swore and pounded his fist on the table, rattling the metal basket full of condiments that sat on it. “They got mine, too—and I can't figure out how they did it. The shards were there this morning—I checked. And my mom was home all day, but when I went to check on them a little while ago, they were gone.”

“So how are we going to get Raph back now?” Benji asked. “Snagging them from the Toppers was going to be bad enough—we'll never get the shards back from those government guys.”

No one said anything for a moment. Benji had voiced the question they were all thinking, Nass knew, and none of them had an answer.

“Well,” Nass said with a sigh. “There's nothing we can do about it now. We have to get Josh ready for his duel with Rick tonight. We all have to be ready. If the rest of the Toppers jump in, we'll all be fighting.”

Everyone nodded, somber, and Nass felt his hope slipping away. There was no way any of them could win a fight against Rick with morale this low.

There was a beeping sound. It was Josh's phone. He dug it out of his pocket and answered it. Then there was a pause as he listened to the caller, and Nass saw the color drain from his face.

“Okay. I'm with the guys. We're coming now,” he said, ending the call. He looked around at his friends. “It's Emory,” he told them. “We have to get to the hospital, now.”

* * *

The girls and Miss Pembrook followed as Lily Rose led Aimee to the edge of Master Chin's bed. The sight of him lying there gave Aimee a shiver of fear. Lily Rose had said he was ill, but she hadn't been prepared for this. He was so gaunt—much thinner than she remembered. His skin was sallow, his mouth gaped open, his breathing was labored and his hands were twisted into rigid claws as if his muscles, contorted in pain, had frozen in that position. He looked like a man who was dying, Aimee thought. She didn't know what Lily Rose wanted her to do, but she was certain she couldn't do it. All she could do was move things from place to place.

Before she could protest, Lily Rose gently squeezed her hand. “Mister Chin has had a rough time,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “The poison of the Black Snake is far more persistent than anything I've ever seen. That's what's killing him. A very potent poison, running through his veins. Using my compresses, I've managed to draw it out of his brain and his kidneys—enough to keep him alive, anyway. But he's losing the battle. Unless we get the poison out of him, Aimee, Chin is going to die.”

And then Aimee understood. “That's what you want me to do, isn't it? You want me to slip and take the poison with me?”

Lily Rose smiled, her strange eyes almost glowing in the lamplight. “I think it'll work, Aimee, but you have to be careful,” Lily Rose warned. “You must visualize the poison and make sure you take only that. It's a sickly, deep green color. When you place your hands on him, you will feel its presence. You can also smell it on his skin; it's in his sweat and on his breath. Focus in on that, and move only the poison. Because if you accidentally take the blood that it's mingled with, he won't make it.”

Aimee looked again at Chin's gaunt, rigid form. She was scared, and suddenly wished that Orias was there with her. He'd be able to tell her if what Lily Rose suggested was possible or not; he would be able to tell her how to do it. He would even hold her hand as she tried, bolstering her fear with his unwavering confidence. She had never imagined she would have the ability to save a person's life. What would it feel like, she wondered, to have that kind of power? She thought it was way too much responsibility.

But there was no way she would let Master Chin die if there was any chance she could save him.

“Okay,” she said. “I'll try.”

Aimee went to Master Chin's bedside, forcing herself to breathe very slowly through her nose until her heart quit pounding and she felt calm. To her surprise, as she neared him, Chin started mumbling.

“Yut, yee, sarm,” he said in a dry, throaty whisper. “Say, ng, look, chut.”

He was counting, she realized—and then she knew. All those times, standing in front of the mirror and practicing her kung fu moves, those words had come into her head and she'd repeated them. Somehow, it had been Chin all along, teaching her, coaching her, encouraging her. For some reason, the knowledge gave her courage.

She bent over him and let her hands hover above his body for a moment. Then, she closed her eyes and inhaled, taking in the putrid stink of the venom rising through his pores. Finally, her hands drifted down, settling on either side of his neck. She could feel his labored pulse beating within his carotid artery as the blood flowed through it, and within that blood, she imagined she could feel the yellow-green line of the poison tracing through his body, sickening it and strangling it cell by cell. She felt the poison, each drop of it, each molecule, each atom . . . and she slipped.

She didn't go far. When she opened her eyes, she was standing only three feet away from Chin's bed—but that wasn't the extraordinary part. Extending from her hands was what looked like the framework of a man, made entirely of strings or wires of dark greenish-yellow and they were arranged in the exact shape of his sleeping, contorted form. It was a liquid map of his system of blood vessels that was so exquisite in its detail that it looked like an extraordinary work of art. The others gasped, and Aimee's breath caught in her chest. Then, in a fraction of an instant, the liquid sculpture collapsed, falling with a faint spat, leaving a foul-smelling, man-shaped mess on the hardwood floor of Lily Rose's guest bedroom.

“I'll get a mop and bucket,” Dalton said softly, her voice filled with quiet wonder.

The rest of them just stared, looking from Aimee to the puddle of poison she'd slipped out of Master Chin's body, and back to Aimee again.

“Wow, Aimee,” Maggie said. “That was awesome.”

Lily Rose went to Master Chin and passed her hand over his forehead—and his eyes snapped open.

He sat up quickly, like he'd only meant to rest his eyes for a moment and now thought he'd overslept. He looked up at Lily Rose.

“Hello, Chin,” she said.

Chin lifted his hand and absently touched his neck. The two wounds Feng Xu's strike had inflicted were now scabbed over. Color was already flooding back into his cheeks and the yellowish tinge had disappeared from his complexion.

“Aimee removed the poison from your body,” Lily Rose continued. “You've been asleep for a while. How do you feel?”

A slow smile spread across Chin's face. “I feel . . . hungry.”

* * *

The Beetmobile jittered into a parking space outside the Benton Hospital, and the crew got out and headed for the front doors. Even though it was dark out it was surprisingly warm, and the air hung still around them. Above, a handful of stars stood out against the night sky.

I can relate to those stars,
Nass thought as he wove his way through the maze of parked cars. He, too, felt like a lone glimmer of light about to be swallowed up in a sea of chaotic blackness.

It wasn't the knowing that told him this—it was more mundane than that, and he'd felt it ever since Josh had gotten the phone call.
It's Emory. We have to get to the hospital, now.

The memory stoked the urgency already burning in his chest, and Nass redoubled his pace. A moment later, he and the rest of the Flatliners were inside the hospital. There was an old man ahead of them at the information desk where they were supposed to check in, but Josh blew past him and hurried toward a set of double doors at the far end of the lobby. Beet and Benji exchanged a glance with Nass, and they all stepped out of line and followed Josh, ignoring the protests from the help-desk lady.

Josh went through the double doors and then down a long hallway, and on into the intensive-care unit beyond. He had been to visit Emory the most, so he knew the way through the confusing network of hallways, doorways, and elevators. At last, he led them through a final set of double doors and into the ICU, past workstations populated by nurses in bright-colored scrubs who scowled at them as they hurried past. They finally arrived at Emory's hospital room and they all stopped running at once, their shoes squeaking against the tiled floor. They stared, bewildered, around the room.

The bed was empty.

From somewhere down the hall there was a piercing scream, and Josh spun around and shoved his way past Beet. Again, Nass and the others gave chase. They didn't have to run far. There was a waiting area on one end of the ICU, outside a set of doors with a sign above it that said
SURGERY.

A tall doctor wearing a hairnet, with a surgical mask still dangling from his neck, was standing with Emory's parents, and Mrs. Van Buren was sobbing quietly. Myka was there, holding on to Emory's sister Haylee, who had her face buried against Myka's stomach. She was screaming, and Myka was trying to comfort her.

The knowing was not with Nass now. All he experienced in that moment was a vast emptiness that felt like the wind sweeping across a frigid, silent landscape. Then, he and the rest of the Flatliners were walking forward, going to Emory's family, although he hadn't even realized they'd begun to move.

“A nurse will be in soon with some paperwork,” the doctor said to Emory's dad. “I'm sorry for your loss.” And he turned and walked away.

Mr. Van Buren turned to Nass and the crew, his eyes red-rimmed and vacant. “Thanks, guys,” he said. “Thanks for making the drive. Emory would have appreciated it.”

“Mr. Van Buren—what?” Josh was shaking and his voice was trembling. He couldn't go on.

Nass glanced at little Haylee, whose life he had once saved. She was sitting quietly now, holding a stuffed rabbit while Myka whispered gently to her and stroked her hair. He looked at Emory's mom, who was clutching her husband's shirt so hard that it was beginning to rip at the shoulder as she continued to sob. Finally, his gaze returned to Emory's dad, whose face was as expressionless as that of a carved Egyptian pharaoh.

Nass put a steadying hand on Josh's shoulder and stepped forward. “Mr. Van Buren, what's going on?” he asked, forcing himself to stay calm.

Mr. Van Buren finally looked at Nass and their eyes locked.

“He's gone,” he said. “They tried, but—Emory's gone.” His voice broke then, and he turned to his wife for comfort.

* * *

Another Saturday night, Clarisse thought, and she was parked with Rick out at the lake. She was getting pretty sick and tired of going with him to secluded areas where no one would see them—and as soon as her deal with Oscar S. was settled she was going to let Rick know that she wouldn't stand for being his secret fling anymore. It wouldn't be much longer, she thought, as Rick kissed her again, and she couldn't wait to see Oscar's reaction when her football jock turned into something worse than an animal and beat him up. Once that low-life drug dealer saw what Rick was capable of, she was sure he'd hightail it back to Los Angeles and never bother her again. She'd had a text from Oscar the night before last telling her that he was on his way, and then another one tonight, just before she met Rick in the alley behind the Starlite Cinema.

She'd texted him back, saying that he could meet her at Macomb Lake—he could Google it for directions—and that her new boyfriend would take care of her debt to him.