Level 2 (Memory Chronicles) (11 page)

“Did you?”

“No way! I only said, like, two words to him when I stopped by his house to deliver his family’s cookie order.” I start to giggle, the absurdity of this conversation getting the better of me. “Apparently, afterward he told her I was cute.”

“Such a heartbreaker.” He says it softly, seriously.

I sober, fast, and change the subject. “So like this.” I tap out our new secret knock. Long, long, long. Short, short, long.

“That’s it.”

“Then I guess I’m ready.” I stand up.

“I guess you are.” He stands up too.

We walk in silence across the gym and then stand in front of the open door to the tunnel. But once I see it stretch out before me, I find I don’t want to leave Neil.

“Why haven’t you been at church much lately?” I blurt, trying to stall the inevitable.

Neil grins. “Play practice at school. We’re doing
Our Town
.”

“Seriously?” I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. It’s a popular work.

“Why?” He laughs. “You thought I’d only do musicals, right? I do sing one song at least.”

“No, it’s not that. We read
Our Town
last semester. At my old school.” I omit the abysmal grade I got on my paper. “Which part did you get?”

“George Gibbs.” He pulls at the collar of his polo shirt.

Sounds about right. I wonder who gets to play Emily. Who gets to kiss him. “That scene at the end, where George lies down on Emily’s grave . . . it’s tragic.”

“It is.” His gaze roams over to the flickering candlelight and then to the front doors of the gym. “But the part that always gets me is when ghost Emily chooses to relive her twelfth birthday.”

“Yeah, that was so . . . emotional.” I regret not reading the play more closely. If I had, I would know what he’s talking about and be able to answer more intelligently. No better time to get going, I guess. Sighing, I step into the tunnel. “Well, see you back here in a few.”

“Don’t get caught,” he tells me, reaching out his hand. My breath catches in my throat, thinking he’s going to touch me, but he grabs the doorknob to shut the door behind me. The lock clicks.

I run back to our meeting place, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Glasses Girl and the other two are there, though Savannah is not. I tell them I’ve found Neil, and we wait. The minutes tick by, and I wonder if I made the right decision to come back. Occasionally we hear shouting, but no one comes our way.

Finally Savannah shows up, smiling and puffing her hair. We celebrate not being jailed and jellied. I lead them back, perform my secret knock, and Neil lets us in.

We sit on the mats, laughing and talking. Once in a while the main doors open and others come join us. Then Pastor Joe comes in to tell us the game is over. The soldiers, including Andy, march in behind him, looking dejected. The chosen one was never caught, and the Christians win this round. I cheer as loud as anyone else.

We spread our sleeping bags onto the mats in the gym, and although we’re told to pipe down, the room never gets totally quiet. We’re too pumped up.

A knocking sound. Long
, long, long. Short, short, long. My eyes pop open, and a hologram screen shines above me.

“Where is she?” It’s a melodic voice, but demanding and cold. I freeze.

“She’s up there, powering up in a chamber,” Julian answers nonchalantly. I must not be in danger. Relaxing slightly, I shift my position in the console so I can spy on the new arrival.

Tall and imposing, she’s as striking as a runway model. Her pink hair is cropped in a pixie cut, and she’s wearing a strapless, sliced-up silver ball gown over a pair of skinny black jeans and six-inch silver stiletto boots. “Get her down. You’ve been due back for more than a week. Eli wants to prepare phase three.” Her words are sometimes a little too clipped, sometimes a little too slurred, an accent
that sounds vaguely Scandinavian. Icelandic maybe.

Julian starts up the stairs, but I slip out by myself and gingerly make my way over to the top step. I feel so underdressed in my plain white shift, though I guess nothing I could conjure up from my earthly wardrobe would rival this girl’s funky elegance. Might as well not even try. Probably don’t have enough power yet anyway.

“You must be Felicia,” she purrs up at me, her voice as soothing as honey. She saunters over and drapes her arm around Julian. “I’m Mira, a friend of Julian’s. Are you ready to go?”

Mira’s presence raises a ton more questions, and her unexpected friendliness gives me the courage to ask one. “I’ve been wondering something.”

“Yes?” Mira narrows her violet eyes and retracts her arm. Her shift in demeanor is dramatic.

“How did you and Julian get out of your hives? I tried forever to get out, and I never found a way.”

Mira and Julian exchange a significant look.

“We were recruited by the rebellion, the angel underground,” Mira says.

“Angels?” I gape at her. “Wait . . . so angels are fighting the guardians who are enslaving us here?”

Mira laughs. It’s like the tinkling of a thousand tiny bells. “Julian, dear . . . how much have you told her?”

“Not much.” His answer is gruff.

“I can see that.” Mira gestures at me to come closer. I descend until I am standing on the second stair from
the bottom and looking straight into her eyes.

“Forget everything you have heard about angels. That they are some kind of celestial beings who only want the best for you, who want to protect you. True—some are like that. Like the rebels.” She reaches out and takes my hand, guiding me down the last two steps.

“But then there’s the Morati.” She says it sadly, like a lament. “Enemies of good, unhappy with the job God gave them as guardians of this realm. And they want you.”

CHAPTER 9

“ME? WHAT DO THEY WANT WITH ME?”
My body wobbles, and I might fall if not for Mira’s hand on my wrist.

Mira tosses her head, and her chandelier earrings sparkle wildly. “By ‘you,’ of course I mean ‘us.’ The rebels and their recruits.” She releases me and opens her arms wide, as if she’s about to give me a welcoming hug. “You are one of us now.”

It’s all too much to take in. Julian and Mira want me to join a rebellion? Against angels? How can she possibly think we have any chance against celestial beings that must be immensely powerful? I drop like a stone, my butt thudding against the stair.

Mira crosses her arms and frowns at me through her impossibly thick eyelashes. “I thought you said she was strong.”

“She is strong,” Julian insists. “She fought off the doping gas.”

“Did she now? That
is
good news.”

“Thank you.” My courage swells a bit at the sudden admiration in her voice, though her mercurial moods are starting to give me whiplash.

“I am not going to lie to you.” Mira’s feet shimmer as her voice hardens, and she shrinks five inches. The stiletto boots have morphed into sleek black running shoes. “The Morati do not tolerate resistance. They seek to silence us while they prepare to wage their war against heaven. We were a mere thorn in their sides, but as our ranks grow, I think we stand a chance to end their tyranny and return balance to Level Two.” She grimaces. “But we have to outsmart them first.”

“Balance? Level Two?” What in the world is she talking about?

“Think of this place as a waiting room. Earth, what we call Level One, is about creating and forming memories. And this waiting room, Level Two, is about processing those memories, sifting through them to find the meaning of your time on Earth. To come to terms with it so you can move on.”

A mix of anxiety and excitement gnaws my insides. Though I’m not sure I want to know the answer, I go ahead and say what’s on the tip of my tongue. “So there
is
something more than this. A Level Three?”

“Ah . . . that is the eternal question, is it not? What comes next?” She regards me coolly, as if trying to decide how much to tell me. She gathers the long strips of her
skirt around her and sits next to me on the stair.

“What we know is that humans move on from here, but angels don’t. The Morati have recently gathered enough power to travel back and forth to Earth, but whatever comes next eludes them. It infuriates them to have to help humans reach a higher plane where they themselves are not allowed.”

Julian starts tapping his foot and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Am I boring you, Julian?” Mira asks, saccharine sweet.

“The scanner drones seem to be multiplying by the minute out there. I’m worried that if we don’t get going soon, there’ll be a higher chance we’ll get caught.”

Mira’s haughty look in response says it all: At that moment Julian might as well be a spider skittering across the runway while she’s strutting it. But then she feigns a yawn and glances around the hive. “I’m bored of this place anyway.”

She snaps her fingers, and a motorcycle helmet appears on her head, already fastened on her chin. She strides across the hive, pulling on elbow-length leather gloves in two smooth motions. “Fix your shirt, Julian. You look like you’re posing for the cover of a romance novel about pirates.” She snaps her fingers again, and a Ducati appears by her side.

Julian doesn’t bat an eye, as if he’s immune to her barbs, but I have to stifle a laugh. Julian doesn’t like to look foolish, and despite everything I’ve been through so far, I’m still able to find it funny that Mira can put him in his place.

He shimmers, and his shredded shirt is as good as new. “A motorcycle?” he scoffs. “The idea is not to draw attention
to ourselves. You rev up that thing, and you’ll attract whole swarms of scanner drones.”

“Oh, please! They’re not programmed to pick up anything but voices. And they can only do
that
at the quadrant range.”

“That’s true as far as we know, but do we really want to risk it with all the system changes we’ve seen recently?” Julian presses his lips into a thin line and stares her down.

“Fine.” She pouts. “But I am not running.” She hovers her gloved hands over the Ducati, and it transforms into a skateboard. “Time to go.” She expertly mounts and propels herself toward the door. She taps out the code that opens the door, pops the tail of the board to attain air, and sails through the opening.

“Show-off,” Julian mutters. But his bemused half grin tells me he at least partially enjoys her antics.

Though Mira’s level of materialization ability is impressive, I’m not sure I want to go with her back to the rebels’ hideout. I don’t care about being recruited, and I certainly don’t want to fight a war. I just want to find Neil. “Uh, we’re not really going with her, are we?”

Julian puckers his mouth as if he didn’t expect me to make trouble, and the door slides closed, separating us from Mira. “Look, you have two main objectives right now. Avoid the Morati and build your strength. Even if you don’t want to join our fight, we can protect you while you detox.”

“But what about Neil—”

The side of his face twitches. “Do you honestly think you’ll be any help to Neil in your current condition?”

Julian has a point. To have a realistic chance of getting Neil out of his hive—and I assume he’s in a hive somewhere—I need to be at my strongest. It makes sense to stick with the rebels for now, even if I don’t especially want to.

The door slides back open, and Mira peers in. “Hello? Can we go?”

I bite inside of my cheek and sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

We fall into place behind Mira. As usual, our journey is silent except for the dull thuds of our feet hitting the ground and now the low hum of Mira’s wheels. I’m left again to my own whirring thoughts, a barrage of questions that fight for dominance.

I never considered that angels could be the enemy here, though it does now seem like a logical deduction. I guess I had always heard some were cast out of heaven and became demons, followers of Satan that ruled hell and roamed the Earth, tempting mankind. Or maybe this is hell?

But that can’t be right. Mira called it a waiting room, a second level after Earth, not hell. I try to recall any angel lore having to do with evil angels in purgatory or afterlife realms other than heaven or hell, but I can’t. I’ve never missed the Internet more. Without it I’m dependent on Julian and Mira and their capricious whims, like a starving person begging for crumbs. And of course it’s also possible they’re feeding me lies. I’d be a fool to trust Julian completely again. But until I know more, until I get stronger, I’m at their mercy. Because, who am I kidding? What choice do I have? I’d be lost out here in this unchanging landscape of bulbous hives.

We run on and on. I concentrate on putting one foot in
front of the other, even though I’d almost rather hide out in some random hive, plug in, and let my mind sink into a blissful oblivion of memories. It’s tempting. But the thought of seeing Neil again for real tempts me more. Even though I have no idea how we’d fare if I did find him. Could we avoid the Morati by ourselves? Or would we still need to use Julian as a guide?

Maybe I really could be of some use to the rebel mission to overthrow the Morati and restore peace. Give all those children who are strapped into chambers a chance to laugh and play. Give everyone a chance to move on.

And maybe, should we somehow succeed, I might be granted a second chance. Not at an earthly life. As far as I know, no human comes back from the grave. But maybe I could see Autumn again. And my dad. Mend things with them. Tell them how sorry I am for the way things turned out. That I was such a rotten friend and daughter.

Mira and Julian stop suddenly, and I crash into them, catching my foot on the axle of her skateboard and causing it to pitch forward. Mira dismounts effortlessly, but the force throws me sideways, and I stumble but right myself before falling.

Mira twitches her nose, and the offending board vanishes, along with her helmet and gloves. She approaches the nearest hive, smoothes down strands of her hair with her long fingers, and raps on the wall. The door slides open, and she enters without a backward glance.

Julian offers his arm to me, as if he’s my escort to a fancy ball, but I reject it. He shrugs and goes in too. I step over
the threshold behind him and am amazed by the scene that greets me.