The Eternal Tomb (18 page)

“How is that possible?” Phlox asked, listening intently.

“Well, we'd worked together before,” Emalie added absently. “Feels kinda empty without him now, actually.”

“Oh, dear,” said Margaret, her face tight with concern. “This is worse than I feared.”

“I'm okay, Mom,” said Emalie, but she still sounded weak. Then she looked to Oliver. “We didn't stop the Anointment.”

“No,” said Oliver. He gazed down the street and felt a great sinking feeling inside. He couldn't rejoin his soul anymore. And worse, here he was, so close to his human parents, but … how could he meet them, knowing his prophecy would destroy them? “Why did you bring us here?” he asked Margaret.

“Because there's another chance,” she replied. “The Architects told us of another way to stop the prophecy. Selene left it in your parents' house, just in case.”

“Another chance?” Oliver echoed.

“Yes,” said Margaret. “It's in there. In the crib.”

“The crib?” Oliver asked.

“You'll understand after,” said Margaret.

Come on
, said Nathan, starting off.

Oliver hesitated. He was so close, and he wanted to go so badly … but he looked worriedly back at his vampire parents.

“Go,” said Phlox. “Find whatever is there for you.”

Oliver turned, but couldn't quite make his feet move. Then he felt warmth on his back.
Sun!
He turned to see its glowing orange rim rising just over the horizon.

“We'd better find some cover,” said Tyrus, moving out of the road.

“Hurry, Ollie,” said Sebastian.

Oliver looked to Emalie. She nodded and started down the street beside him. They walked quickly. The dangerous warmth of the rising sun made Oliver's skin prickle.

Ahead, Nathan stood at the edge of a driveway where the road began to curve. The mailbox read 714. They followed him toward the front porch. Oliver was surprised to see a red tricycle on the little brick walkway. They reached a screen door, and a white door behind that. Nathan passed through it. The white door swung open.

Oliver felt frozen. His nerves were vibrating like cello strings. It was all he could do just to stand here. He had wanted to find his parents for so long, and yet, he hadn't actually considered what he was going to
do
when he found them. Should he just introduce himself?
But I'm a vampire. I might terrify them.

You can do it
, thought Emalie, and gave him a gentle push through the door.

Inside was a long living room attached to a dining room, and a small kitchen around a corner. The house was recently built and yet the furniture was old, antique. Faint morning light filtered through blinds.

Where are you?
Oliver called to Nathan.

I'm right here
.

“Oliver,” Emalie whispered. “You're glowing.”

Oliver looked down. A white glow radiated off his body, blue sparks around its edges.

We can be together here
, said Nathan.

Oliver couldn't believe the feeling. Like there was more to him. Not like he was whole, because he could feel that Nathan was separate, but at the same time, it was like Nathan filled in certain spaces, made spots solid that he hadn't even noticed were hollow, and made things calm. It gave Oliver an incredible sense of relief.

Over here.
Oliver and Nathan walked to the television. Above it was a shelf, lined with photos. Emalie joined them, taking their hands.

Oliver spied a black-and-white photo of Howard and Lindsey. They looked just as they had on the night he'd been sired, their faces smooth, young. Howard was handsome, and wearing a military uniform in the photo, his arm around Lindsey, who wore a polka-dot dress and Howard's pointed hat. They were grinning at the camera, a party in full swing behind them. The tarnished silver frame was engraved: V-J Day,
1945.
Oliver touched the photo. Imagining them as his parents. Imagining living here…

Yet there were more photos on either side. Oliver found a blurry color photo of his parents in casual clothes—with a new baby. A girl, wrapped in a pink blanket…

Then Howard and Lindsey and that girl on a motorboat, on a lake in the sun. Howard with thick sideburns, and the girl, maybe five, with long dark hair, the color of Lindsey's and Oliver's…

That's Adelaide
, said Nathan.

“Their daughter?” asked Oliver.

Yes. And our sister. She was born two years after we died
.

Of course it was. Still, Oliver felt a lump growing in his throat.

The pictures went on.… Their arms around Adelaide, who wore a black graduation cap and gown. She had on purple tinted glasses and was making a peace sign at the camera.…

Then Adelaide in a skirt, standing among villagers in a dry, thirsty countryside…

Then in a beautiful white dress, with a smiling, bearded man…

Then with a baby of her own…

Steven
.

Looking down the mantle, Oliver saw Steven grow up, too, from baby to toddler to young soccer player in the afternoon sun, to college graduate, to groom. And Oliver's sister went from young woman to older, her hair lightening to gray. All in Oliver's short existence…

This way.
They turned toward the hallway.

“I'll wait here,” whispered Emalie.

The hall was short, ending at three doorways. The one to the left was open slightly. Oliver spectralized, and entered.

Howard and Lindsey were in the bed, Howard snoring, his mouth half-open, Lindsey's breath slow and frail. Their hair was white.

Oliver stepped close to the bed, looking down at his mother's face. Her nose was more curved. It had lost the perfect straightness from its photos. Her cheeks had sunk, and looked hollow. Her face was folded in wrinkles.

They're so old
, he and Nathan thought together. It made him sad in a way he couldn't describe. He wanted them to be the young, smiling faces in the old photos. Wanted them to have their lives ahead of them. They would be gone soon, these parents of his, and there was nothing to be done.

Lindsey stirred, and suddenly sat up with such speed that Oliver had to leap backward. He bumped the wall. Lindsey turned. Oliver pressed back, spectralizing as hard as he could.

Lindsey's wrinkled eyes peered in Oliver's direction. She looked frightened. “Nathan?” she whispered.

Mom
, Oliver and Nathan thought.
We should say hello
, thought Oliver.
Tell her it's okay
—

“Gam Gam?”

A very young boy stood in the doorway, wearing blue pajamas.

Lindsey blinked, then reached to the nightstand with shaking fingers. She picked up her glasses and slipped them on. “Oh, Peter,” she said.

“Who you talking to, Gam Gam?” Peter asked. He glanced in Oliver's direction.

“Who—” Lindsey looked perplexed, and a shadow crossed her face.

“Was it a ghost?” Peter asked. “Ghosts are scary.”

“No, no, Peter, it wasn't a ghost.… It was just a dream. An old dream.” Lindsey glanced warily toward Oliver again. “Go back to bed, sugar.”

“'Kay.” Peter turned and walked off.

Lindsey pulled off her glasses and lay back down, rolling over with her back to Oliver. She sighed deeply.

Oliver backed out of the room. He just wanted to leave. He didn't want to be the ghost, the old, frightening dream. He didn't want his parents to be so frail, didn't want them to have other kids, grandkids,
great-
grandkids. He wanted to be their son, and them to be young.… He wondered if it had been a mistake to come here.

But Nathan turned him into the next room.
Come on
, he urged. Staying spectralized, Oliver entered a small room, its floor cluttered with toys, most of which were dinosaurs. Peter was busy getting back into a tiny bed and pulling up the covers.

On the other side of the room stood a white crib filled with stuffed animals. Oliver approached, and his gaze fell on the mobile hanging above it. It looked very old. The little circus animals hanging from it were made of wood, hand-painted. There was a simple windup mechanism in a round box in the center, with a silver key. Oliver pulled the box toward him and saw the hand-carved inscription in it:

To Nathan, 12-28-45

Though it seemed impossible, Oliver swore he could remember it, could remember gazing up at the spinning animals with wide, innocent eyes, so long ago. He wanted to wind it up and hear it sing—

That's what I always want, too. But we can't. We'd wake everybody
.

Oliver felt that horrible, pressing ball in his throat grow beyond control, like it would burst out the back of his neck, or his chest, and then he hunched, sucking in air, and for the second time in his existence, he wept.

I miss them
, he and Nathan thought as one.
Can I miss them without even knowing them?

Tears fell onto the animals.

“Why you crying?”

Oliver turned to see Peter sitting up in bed, gazing at him seriously. And Oliver realized that he'd let himself reappear in the room.

“I don't really know,” said Oliver honestly.

“Maybe it's 'cause you have an owwie,” said Peter. “I fell down and had to get a Band-Aid.” Peter bent his elbow toward Oliver, pointing at a bandage with pictures of a big red dog. Peter frowned. “I wanted to put it on my own.”

“Peter?” The voice came from the door. “Who are you talking to?” A woman appeared in the doorway. Gray tousled hair, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She looked toward Oliver, but he had spectralized once more. Still, her gaze lingered.

Peter looked back at where Oliver had been, frowned, and turned to Adelaide, Oliver's sister, now an older woman herself. “Gramma, I showed dat boy my owwie,” he reported.

Adelaide nodded. “Right, you mean at the park yesterday.”

“No, the ghost. Over dere.” He pointed toward the crib.

Adelaide peered in Oliver's direction again, and Oliver felt sure that though she couldn't see him, she sensed him—sensed
something.

They know
, thought Oliver.
Somewhere inside, they all know
.

Adelaide's mouth tightened. Oliver detected a trace of fear in her scent. Yet she turned back to Peter and whispered tenderly, “There are no ghosts, honey.”

“Okay,” Peter said, disappointed. He sat on his bed. “I miss Mommy and Daddy.”

Adelaide sat with Peter. “They miss you, too, honey. But they went on a cruise for their anniversary because they love each other, and they'll be back very soon. And they'll be so happy to see you.” She glanced at the window, and then toward Oliver again. “You know, it's morning now, want to go mark your calendar?”

“'Kay.”

“Get your blankie and your friends.” She shuffled out.

Peter gathered an armful of stuffed animals and a worn yellow blanket decorated with little sea creatures. Oliver recognized it from the Portal. It had once been wrapped around him.

In the crib
, said Nathan. Oliver turned back to the crib and reached down among the stuffed animals. Pushing them carefully aside, he spied another amethyst box, its top engraved with a Skrit symbol he didn't recognize:

He put it in his sweatshirt pocket. After a last look at the mobile, he turned to leave.

Peter turned from his bed, having added a plastic dinner plate to his armful of animals. “Bye, ghost,” he whispered, even though Oliver was still spectralized.

Oliver and Nathan stopped, having a thought together. Oliver remembered Jenette, the wraiths on the beach, Lindsey's frightened eyes, and allowed himself to reappear, glowing with Nathan's light. “There
are
ghosts,” said Oliver. “But they aren't scary. We watch over you, to keep you safe.” He ruffled Peter's hair, then left the room.

Oliver stopped in the hall, watching as Peter found Adelaide in the third bedroom. She was holding a calendar, and a Magic Marker.

“Where do I draw?” Peter asked.

“Right here,” said Adelaide. “Today is the twenty-first. Let's draw a smiley face, and then look, only one more day till Mommy and Daddy come home.”

Oliver returned to the living room. Emalie was waiting. Margaret had joined them. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds.

“I already took your parents and Dean back,” she said, and held out her hands.

Oliver, Emalie, and Margaret joined hands. As the room began to fade, Oliver looked at Emalie. She smiled at him, but he couldn't quite return it. He didn't totally understand what had just happened…didn't know if he would understand it for a long time. He glanced around his parents' house, his human parents, feeling an urge to stay, despite how he'd wanted to leave.…

And now he felt himself and Nathan separating. There was a moment of stretching, like things were pulling apart that shouldn't.
Don't
—