Intuition (18 page)

“Mi amore,”
he says, his words coming out short and clipped as if he's fighting for control. “There will never be anyone for me but you.” He brushes her golden hair away from her face, taking a strand and twisting it around his finger. “I want to be with you forever.”

“And I with you,” Alessandra answers, her eyes glistening with tears. She strokes his cheek with her delicate hand.

Paolo suddenly drops to one knee. “Marry me, then!”

I gasp so loudly that it's a wonder they don't hear me. But they only have eyes for each other.

“Marry me!” he repeats. “Make me the happiest man on the face of the earth.” He lifts one hand and kisses it gently.

Alessandra is just about to answer when their door is flung open with such force that it nearly knocks me off my perch. Signore Barone bursts into the room, his face scarlet with anger. “What is going on here?” he demands, reaching down to pull Paolo to his feet by the collar.

“Papa!” Alessandra cries. “Let him go! He has done nothing wrong.”

But Signore Barone doesn't listen and Paolo crashes against the wall, music stands rattling as he slides heavily to the floor.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Only a few weeks later, right here in San Francisco, Alessandra would lie broken on the concrete three stories below the rooftop, her life spilling out of her in a growing pool of red. I open my eyes again and Veronique is
staring at me. I see a desperation in her face that I remember from that boy so long ago.

“Rayne
is
Alessandra. It's the same essence, I'm sure of it.” Tears form in her eyes as she speaks. “I've been searching for her since that night on the roof a century ago. I can't believe she's been here this whole time.” She blinks hard, and I can see her fighting for control. “I was right all along. Alessandra's essence was drawn to you in this lifetime.”

“Rayne is
not
Alessandra,” I say angrily. “I've never felt any connection. She's my best friend in this lifetime and that's it.” I turn to Veronique, blocking Rayne out completely. This is between the two of us. “Rayne is a seventeen-year-old girl. She's not Akhet, Veronique. She has a boyfriend.”

She waves the thought away. “The only reason she has a boyfriend is because she doesn't remember what we were to each other.”

I turn to Rayne. “Are you hearing this? Does she really think you'd give up Peter for her?”

Rayne looks suddenly confused, as if something she was sure of is suddenly falling apart. “I don't know. I mean, I love being with Peter. But Veronique has told me so much about that lifetime, about how we felt about each other, about how much in love we were.” She seems to draw herself up straighter and glances at Veronique. “We were destined to meet again.”

“You're only repeating what she's told you,” I say.

“Because she doesn't remember the truth,” Veronique says.

I stare at the two of them. Anger is getting me nowhere, so I have to try logic. “Think about what you're asking her to do . . .
to be. You're asking a high-school girl to give up her boyfriend and fall in love with a woman almost ten years older than she is.” I realize as I say it that I'm already thinking of myself as older than Rayne. My concept of age and experience is shifting with every week that passes.

“This isn't about age or gender,” Veronique says. “I'm not asking her to love me in spite of being a woman. Or even because of it. On a higher level, love isn't about men and women or women and women—all of that loses any sort of meaning.” She looks at Rayne and I sense she wants to grab her hand. I think I'd punch her if she did. “Our kind of love is about essences that are indelibly intertwined throughout history, regardless of how they're packaged in this lifetime.”

“What if you're wrong?” Rayne says to me. “What if I am Alessandra? I mean, it makes sense. You've been like my sister since the first day we met, and if we were best friends in another lifetime, then we really do have a special connection.”

“You're my best friend in this lifetime,” I insist. “But that's it. Our connection doesn't go beyond the day we met back in second grade.” I see the hurt in Rayne's eyes, but I can't back down. I can't let Veronique's lies start to make sense.

Veronique takes a step forward. “I don't know why you can't see the connection, but I can. The relationship I have with the essence that belongs to Rayne goes beyond love . . . beyond lifetimes. You of all people should understand that. What you and Griffon have is obviously the same kind of relationship.”

The words hit like a punch in the stomach. “Griffon's gone,” I finally say, clearing my throat, realizing after almost two weeks that it really is true. “Proof that even the strongest connection
sometimes isn't enough.” I close my eyes and shake the emotion off. “You're just trying to take advantage of her. Rayne's different. She's not like us.”

“Neither were you just a few months ago,” Veronique says. “A few months ago, you weren't Akhet. Maybe Rayne is ready to transition too.”

“What, like you're just going to wave your arms and magically Rayne is going to start remembering her past lives? Wouldn't that be convenient.”

“I'm not a child!” Rayne yells at me. As she turns away, I catch a glimpse of something around her neck, hanging from a silver chain. “You don't have to stand here—”

“What is that?” I interrupt, pointing at her chest. The ankh isn't like any I've ever seen before—it has a black stone in the middle and some kind of hieroglyphic writing on the front. “Where did you get it?”

Rayne glances at Veronique and my fury boils up all over again. I can't believe it. “Take it off,” I insist.

Rayne puts one hand over the pendant. “You're not my mother.”

I grab her by the shoulders, wishing I could shake some sense into her. “I know you think this is some kind of romantic story, but it's not. Veronique is just making this whole thing up to fit some twisted agenda. Don't you remember what Griffon said? We shouldn't even be standing here talking to her.”

I see a glimmer of doubt in her eyes, so I keep charging forward. “Veronique also thought I killed Alessandra. Her track record isn't all that good up to now. If you're so sure about what she's saying, call Griffon.” I reach in my pocket and hold out my
phone. “Call him right now and tell him where we are and what she's said.”

“I don't know,” Rayne hesitates. She glances at Veronique. “Everything she said made so much sense . . .”

I look into her eyes, willing Rayne to trust me. “Because she's very good at telling lies. That's what she does. Just because she wants you to be Alessandra, that doesn't mean it's true.”

Rayne nods slowly, her eyes locked on mine. I don't know if she totally believes me, but I've managed to plant enough doubt to get her out of here. She reaches up and unclasps the chain from around her neck. “I'm sorry, Veronique,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as she hands it to her.

“I'm sorry too,” I say, as I put one arm around her shoulder and lead her down the street.

“A reggae festival? Since when do you go to reggae festivals?”

We walk out of the tunnel and into Golden Gate Park. The meadow is crowded with people dancing by the stage, pounding away in drum circles, lying on giant blankets staring at the sky, and standing in clumps playing hacky sack. Pretty much all the stuff we usually make fun of.

“You wanted to know what we were doing today,” Rayne says, swinging Peter's arm back and forth. “This is what we're doing.” I can tell from the edge in her voice that she's still a little bit mad at me.

“But reggae?” I wave my hand in front of my face to try to get rid of some of the pot smoke that's hanging in the air. After all the Veronique nonsense from yesterday, I'm glad to see her with Peter again. It took most of the day, but I finally managed to convince her that Veronique is full of crap. At least I think I
did. Rayne is such a hopeless romantic that I can never be entirely sure. I'm just going to have to keep a close eye on her from now on.

“This is what's going on in the park today. Besides, it's free and it's a nice day, so stop complaining.” Rayne rubs her arm and winces.

I glance down at her skin. “What's wrong? You're all red.”

“I don't know,” she says, looking at her arms. They're both a bright pink color. “I must have gotten sunburned without realizing it. It really hurts.”

I look closely at her face. “Your cheeks are red too.” I put one hand up to her forehead. “You feel hot. Are you getting sick?”

“I don't think so,” she says. “But I do have a little headache.”

“I have some Advil,” I say, fishing around in my bag.

“It's okay,” Rayne says. She puts her finger and her thumb on either side of her other hand and presses down. “I'll just do some acupressure. That should work.”

I sigh. Rayne always wants to go the holistic route. “If you say so.”

Peter puts one arm around her shoulders and I trudge along a few feet behind them. My phone buzzes, so I pull it out to glance at the number. I realize I'm smiling as I open up Drew's text.

What r u doing?

I text him back.
At a reggae fest in the park.

No, seriously. Where r u?

Seriously. GGPark. With Rayne and her BF.

Drum circles and hacky sack?

I laugh out loud, and Rayne looks back at me.
You must be a regular.

I rule at hacky sack.

Don't know if I would brag about that.

“Who is it?” Rayne asks.

I glance over at Peter. He still talks to Griffon. “Nobody.”

You should know by now that I have many talents.

There's a pause for a few moments. And then he texts again.
I had fun on Friday.

I hesitate, not wanting to encourage something I can't finish.
Me too.

Do it again soon?

I glance up and realize we've stopped walking. Peter is nodding his head to the music from a band that's on the stage, and Rayne is just looking at me.
Maybe. GTG.

I slide the phone back in my pocket as we wander around the park looking at the booths full of tie-dye and pipes that are to be used for legal tobacco products only, if the signs posted are any indication.

We start down the hill toward another part of the festival with Peter leading the way, past the merry-go-round and through the playground back to the meadow. I look over and involuntarily glance up at the top of the cement slide that's carved into the side of the hill. At the top of the slide was where my life changed forever—where Griffon first told me about being Ahket.

Rayne untangles her arm from Peter's and reaches into her bag, catching my eye as I watch her. “Maybe . . . maybe that Advil . . . ,” she says, but her words sound thick and heavy. I lean over and look at her carefully. Her face is flushed, and I can see through her sunglasses that she's squinting her eyes as if the light is hurting them. I start to say something to her about
seeing a doctor when her bag slips off her shoulder. As she bends down to pick it up, she stumbles slightly, her body weaving as she tries to stand up straight.

“Rayne?” I say, taking a step toward her. “Are you okay?”

With immense effort, she turns to look at me, one hand pressing against her forehead. “I don't—” she begins, but her knees buckle and in an instant she's lying in a heap on the grass.

Peter drops to the ground beside her, cradling her head in his lap. “Rayne!” he calls. He rubs her cheek, but she just turns her head and moans, eyes shut tight and her jaw clenched against the pain.

“I'll call 911!” I shout, watching her motionless on the ground. I fumble in my pocket for my phone.

“There are some paramedics in the parking lot,” a guy next to us says. “I'll go get them. It'll be faster.”

People around us start noticing Rayne on the ground and push back to give us some space. I kneel down by her head, not having a clue what to do.

“Come on, Rayne,” Peter says. “You'll be okay. Just hang on, you'll be okay.” He repeats that over and over again like a chant as he holds her hand, one thumb rubbing her fingers. “You'll be okay.”

It seems like forever, but finally two men in uniform push through the crowd carrying big medical boxes. “Out of the way!” they shout. “Give us room.” They bend down, feeling for her pulse and checking her eyes. “Who's with this girl?” the blond one asks.

“We are,” Peter says. “Is she going to be okay?”

The other guy speaks into a radio that's hanging at his shoulder, calling for the ambulance.

“What's she on?” he asks. “What did she take?”

I stare at him. They think she OD'd. “Nothing! She didn't take anything!”

He glances over and I know that he doesn't believe me. “Her pupils are huge. The best way to help your friend is to tell us what she took.”

I lean in closer to him. “I'm telling you, she didn't take anything! Do something! Don't just sit there!”

Peter puts his arm around me, as much to hold me back as for comfort, I imagine. “Cole's right. One second she was fine, the next she was on the ground.”

I glance from him to the paramedic, who nods, although I still don't know if he believes us. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. “She said she had a headache,” I say, “and she was really hot.”

He reaches for a syringe just as Rayne's eyes roll into the back of her head. Her fists clench and her legs jerk as her body arches up in a tremor. “She's posturing!” he shouts to the other guy. “Where's that ambulance? We need to get her out of here now!”