Alight The Peril (17 page)

“Looks as though we’re a Guardian short,” Mr. Sykes said, and he winked at Angeline.

“She knows we’re here,” I said. “She’s still blocking me, and pretty much ignoring us.”

Aunt Dorothy tsked and pressed her lips together. “Well, perhaps she will show up yet. Have you smoothed things over with her like we discussed, Corinne?”

I wanted to defend myself, to explain how difficult Sophie was. Why give her another chance to shoot me down? I swallowed the plaintive words before they could escape. “No, I haven’t. I will soon.”

Aunt Dorothy seemed satisfied by this, or at least she didn’t want to pursue it now. “I spoke to your father about Bradley a few moments ago,” she said. “I understand you saw him last night?”

I nodded, and then I recounted how I’d searched for the source of his illness.

“I had to stop,” I said. “It was hurting him, and I was afraid to do any more.”

I reached for the afghan folded over the arm of the sofa and smoothed its soft fringe. Was the dark thing inside Bradley bigger today? Was it causing him more pain? I focused on my great-aunt. I needed some good news. Anything.

“I believe Harriet is behind this.” Aunt Dorothy looked down into her mug, still as a statue for a moment. “To understand why, I must explain a few things.” She set her mug on the oak side table and folded her hands in her lap. I shifted on the sofa so I could watch her face as she spoke.

“You are aware of the possibility of something slipping through the convergence and attacking or poisoning someone,” she continued. “But I think that an unlikely explanation in Bradley’s case. You see, when we are this near the summer solstice, the convergence is at its least permeable. We believe this has something to do with the botanicals that grow near it, and the fact that they are at their most vibrant this time of year. Their vitality, in turn, gives you a surge of strength.”

She nodded at me, and I raised my eyebrows in question. “But I don’t feel stronger,” I said.

“That’s likely because you have had only a few weeks as Pyxis, and so you have very little basis for comparison.” She gave me a shrewd, narrow-eyed stare. “When the dead of winter arrives, you most definitely will know the difference.”

A chilly shiver raised goose bumps along my arms.

“So you think that whatever is harming Brad came through Harriet Jensen rather than directly through the convergence?” Mason said.

“I believe so,” she said.

“Yes, we have a theory about that, too,” Mr. Sykes spoke up. His bushy eyebrows knit together in concern. “As the false Pyxis, her abilities develop alongside Corinne’s, though always to a lesser extent. We believe that as Corinne becomes stronger the nearer we draw to the summer solstice, it only makes sense that the false Pyxis would become stronger in parallel.”

I started to say something about Zane’s explanation of the false Pyxis, but snapped my mouth shut.

A weight settled in my chest, crowding my lungs. If this theory was correct, Harriet would become more and more troublesome during the next few weeks. I glanced at Ang and Mason. I should have tried harder to get Sophie here. Despite the problems between us, I couldn’t leave her vulnerable to Harriet’s influence.

“What can I do for Bradley?” I asked, pushing away thoughts of the dangers to my union. At this moment, I needed to focus on saving my brother. “Are there any plants in the meadow that could help him?”

“Yes, I would like you to try a combination of botanicals and influences,” Aunt Dorothy said.

“You’ll help me, right?” I asked. “I don’t want to do something wrong.”

“Absolutely. I have been meaning to teach you about the plants so you will understand their actions and be able to use them on your own.”

“That would be great.” I let out a half breath I didn’t realize I’d held.

“And I will coach you on how best to approach healing him.”

“What do you think the chances are, that . . . ” I swallowed hard. “That it will . . . work?”

“I wish I knew, my dear,” Aunt Dorothy said. She patted my hand in a brusque gesture. “We will do our absolute best.”

We arranged our next drill session, and then Ang, Mason, and I stood to leave. On our way to the door, Aunt Dorothy caught my arm. “You must address this rift with Sophie,” she said. “Do not put it off, Corinne.”

I sighed and nodded. She was right, of course. I couldn’t delay the confrontation any longer. I asked Ang to drop me off at Sophie’s house.

|| 19 ||

SOPHIE LIVED WITH HER AUNT in a tiny house just off the highway. Her red Honda was parked on the curb.

Ang pulled up behind Sophie’s car and squeezed my arm. “Good luck. Call me later and tell me how it goes. I can come and get you if you want.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I opened the car door. My stomach turned somersaults as I trudged up to the ripped screen door. I pressed my finger on the button beneath the porch light, and the doorbell chimed inside. I pulled open the screen door and rested it against my back.

The door creaked open a few inches, and Sophie’s face appeared in the crack. I wedged my foot between the door and the frame so she couldn’t close it on me.

“Oh good, glad I caught you.” I pushed the door against her, forcing her to retreat a step, and slipped into a living room that wasn’t much more than a pass-through from the door to the shotgun kitchen.

I’d expected protests, maybe even an arm shooting up to block my way, but she closed the door and turned to regard me. Unbrushed hair, bloodshot eyes. A tiny alarm pinged in my head. Sophie never looked this unkempt.

“We need to talk, Sophie.” I hoped my voice was a white flag. I pressed my arms against my sides, trying to hide my shaking hands. “We can’t let things go on like they’ve been.”

For a moment she just looked at me, unblinking. I braced myself for a barrage. But to my surprise, she nodded. Her shoulders stooped, she brushed past me, and I followed her. I couldn’t help checking the place out. The first time I’d tried to come here, I hadn’t even made it to the front door. And last time, I’d just stood outside.

She led me to a bedroom at the back of the house that was barely big enough for the queen-sized bed that occupied it. I dropped my bag on the floor next to the dresser. By the time I turned to her, she’d folded herself into a compact little package, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them, at the head of the bed.

“You can sit down,” she said, gesturing with the back of her hand.

I sat cross-legged, facing her, and drew a deep breath.

“We used to be friends,” I began. I swallowed, dreading what I had to ask. “You were one of my best friends, in fact. But I never really understood what happened in fifth grade or why you’ve been so intent on making me miserable for the past five years. Why did things change?”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t jump in.

“Sometimes people just grow apart, and I guess Angeline and I started to be friends around then,” I continued. My heart thumped uncomfortably. I felt like I was babbling. “But it’s like you’ve just been mean for no reason at all.”

Her eyes flashed with such anger I inhaled sharply.

“This is all because of you, Corinne.”

I blinked. “What’s because of me? I’m not trying to be dense, but I—”

“Oh, please!” she interrupted. She rolled her eyes. “You probably think you did a good thing because you’re so effing annoying that way. But you
ruined
my
life
.” Her words lashed at me.

“I . . . what?” My face scrunched with desperate confusion. The venom in her voice scared me. I was used to Mean Sophie, but this was something deeper.

Pain pulled at her face and crept through our link in uncomfortable pulses. She was on the verge of tears. Or maybe a screaming fit. I wanted to spring from the bed and escape. But if I didn’t push through the barrier now, I probably wouldn’t get another chance.

Don’t shut me out,
I pressed.
I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Please . . . just start at the beginning.

She clamped her teeth on her lips as a tear trailed down one cheek.

In fifth grade, at the slumber party for my birthday, you saw the . . . the bruises.

I wanted to protest. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about, but I fastened my lips together and waited.

That’s why my parents divorced. That’s why I’m here. You didn’t have to say anything, Corinne. I was just fine. Everything would have been okay!

My lips parted, and I gaped down at my hands as I started to put the pieces together. Shortly after Sophie’s slumber party, she’d moved here with her aunt. A year or so later, her parents divorced, and her dad moved to a different state. The rumor mill whispered that her mom suffered some kind of breakdown during all of this, so what had been a temporary living situation for Sophie became permanent. Her mom moved to Danton, and as far as I knew, she and Sophie never saw each other.

Bruises. . . . I stepped back through the years. . . .

When we were kids, Sophie and I had spent many summer days at the lake with other Tapestry kids. I’d noticed occasional bruises on Sophie’s arms and back, and once on her cheek. But she was a tomboy back then, way more fearless than most of the boys, and I’d always assumed she just hurt herself a lot. But they were. . . . All of those marks on her body over the years flashed through my mind’s eye like a horrible highlights reel.

The ache in the center of my chest expanded as my version of Sophie’s life rewrote itself.

I truly had no idea,
I said
.
All this time, Sophie thought I’d tattled on her? And I was so oblivious, I didn’t even know the bruises weren’t from roughhousing with the boys.

But your mom was the one who started it. She reported it.
Sophie’s anger was now mixed with deep sadness. Her voice was barely a whisper through our link.

She did? She must have seen something. It wasn’t because of me. I was just a stupid kid. I had no idea what was going on, didn’t even know that the bruises. . . . She never told me what was going on. I . . . I’m so sorry, Sophie.

Tears spilled down to my jaw and dropped onto my jeans with soft splats. Sophie hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face. Her shoulders shuddered every few seconds. I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, comfort her somehow. But I didn’t think she wanted to be touched.

So instead, I cried with her.

Guilt and sadness circled my heart. How had I missed this vital fact of Sophie’s life? Tapestry was small. Rumors had surely circulated. How might that knowledge have changed things between me and Sophie? If Sophie and I had remained friends, maybe Angeline and I wouldn’t have found each other. Maybe Ang wouldn’t be a Guardian now.

How much of our lives were decided for us before we even understood what the consequences would be? How much of what was happening now could I influence? What if my best efforts simply weren’t enough . . . ?

After several minutes, I crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for my bag. Digging to the bottom, I found a small packet of tissues and pulled out a couple. I dabbed at my cheeks, trying to clean up smeared mascara.

Sophie raised her head, but kept her eyes downcast. She swiped her fingers across her cheeks and sniffled convulsively a couple of times. I handed her the packet of tissues, and she accepted it without looking up.

I gave her a few minutes to compose herself, and I tried to reconcile the new, rewritten Sophie in my mind with the one who sat before me. I suddenly understood why she and Brad made such a good match. They both had a certain spark. But they also shared something much more profound—they both were survivors.

I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been through,
I said.
No one should have to endure what you have. You are crazy-strong for surviving all of it, and maybe that’s why you’re a Guardian. And I’m glad you are because we need your strength.
I remembered Aunt Dorothy’s warning about summer solstice and urgency pressed down on me like a loaded backpack.
But . . . I need to know something. Where were you when we had the last drill at the meadow?

She bit her thumbnail for a second.
I’ll tell you, but you have to promise it stays between us.
She waited for me to nod.
I was selling some things that . . . belonged to my mother. I . . . I wanted to get Brad a stereo for his car. I had to drive to a pawn shop in Danton, and I didn’t think it would take so long.

I wish you’d just said so, instead of letting us think you blew us off. We really need you. We can’t do it without you, Sophie.

She straightened, and for the first time ever, I appreciated and welcomed the fierceness in her eyes.

I know,
she said.
I’m ready, now.

* * *

I cried again later, when I recounted the conversation for Angeline over the phone.

“Are you going to tell Mason?” Ang asked, her voice teary.

“She said I could. She knows we’ll all keep it to ourselves. I think I probably should tell him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I feel like we shouldn’t be keeping secrets from each other. We have to be able to trust each other. It’s not even about keeping a secret or not keeping it. It’s really about knowing each other
that
well, don’t you think?”

“I agree. Maybe that’s exactly what we need, actually.”

“I’m gonna let you go,” Ang said. “I really feel like I need to say something to Sophie about all of this, and just, I don’t know, make sure she’s okay.”

“Okay. Text me later.”

I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to understand the new hollow sensation within me. But it was good. I’d been drained of some long-stored hurt that had occupied way too much valuable real estate. Now that it was gone, something better could fill that space.

When I woke up an hour later, I told Mason about Sophie. He was quiet for so long after I finished, I wondered for a second if I’d accidentally blocked him.

I never would have guessed,
he said. I could tell he was struggling to control his emotions. A mix of surprise, sadness, and anger flowed through our link.
That’s . . . It’s just . . . it’s so awful. I guess it explains a lot.