Riley Bloom 1 - Radiance (13 page)

(Though some people happened to like the way they looked so much they wore them anyway. Which is how, according to Bodhi, that whole angel-with-wings thing got started.)

But still, in the end, it all came down to just how badly you wanted something.

Just how well you could imagine yourself having it and/or doing it.

And just how much you believed you truly could have it and/or do it.

It was simple.

Easy peasy.

All you had to do was know how to manifest it.

But the question was: Could a dog actually manifest something?

Something as foreign to them as flying would be?

And almost more importantly, why would Buttercup even want to pretend he was a bird gliding from tree branch to tree branch, when he so clearly loved being a dog?

But then, when I thought about it, really thought long and hard about it, I remembered the growing number of times I’d found him in his own little self-made nirvana—surrounded by piles of his favorite brand of doggie biscuits as he napped in a solitary warm patch of sun that hadn’t been there a few moments earlier.

And at that moment I knew just what it would take to get him to take flight.

All we had to do was find a way to make Buttercup want to fly.

Otherwise, one of us was going to have to carry him all the way to London.

We were in one of the many gardens of Warmington Castle, having decided to use the one with the maze and the tangle of roses as a sort of runway. Even though I’d warned Bodhi that if I failed to launch, and ended up all snarled up in those sharp, thorny rosebushes instead, he’d never hear the end of it.

But he just laughed, that good-natured, wonderful tinkling sound of a laugh he’d definitely held firmly in check just a little while before, but after releasing the Wailing Woman, he seemed to use freely.

I guess his fear of failure, of possibly being demoted and all, is what made him so grumpy and serious. And, after he explained it to me, well, it seemed he had good reason.

That wasn’t his first go-round with the Wailing Woman.

He’d been there before.

Went with his own guide, who, by the way, he still firmly refuses to either name or describe but who he swears I’ll get to meet someday—maybe (he put major emphasis on the maybe)—if and when (again, emphasis) he feels that I’ve earned it. Though he totally failed to elaborate on just how I might go about doing that.

But anyway, the way he told it, the first time he approached her, he took one look into those horrible, bottomless eyes of hers and hotfooted right down the stairs, through the corridor, down the other stairs, and bippidy blah blah, until he found his way outside in the garden, white as a sheet, and gasping for dear life (yep, even though he was already dead).

The second time, he knew he could not possibly behave like that again, not if he ever wanted to get his “glow on” (a term he also put great emphasis on, yet even though I pressed him, he completely refused to explain it to me), and so, when she turned and met his gaze, he didn’t hold back even though he really, really wanted to.

He also didn’t scream and go running out of that room.

Instead, he just dove right in, determined to swallow her grief and prove he could do it.

But, as soon as he started, he was so overwhelmed by her unending despair, he just spit it right back out at her, watching it drip and cling until she was able to absorb it back in.

And just after that, he was marched (so to speak) right back to the Here & Now where he was urged to enroll in some advanced classes on tolerance and compassion, where he finally grew and learned enough to graduate from his level, and move on to a higher level, where he was then urged to take on the not-so-easy task of guiding a spunky, snappy, snarky, slightly rebellious (his words, not mine) twelve-year-old girl who’d recently had her life ripped right out from under her.

Then when (not to mention if!) he gets a good handle on me, well, they told him that maybe, they just might consider letting him go for round three in the match of Bodhi versus the Wailing Woman.

All of which means we weren’t even supposed to be at Warmington Castle in the first place.

Apparently there was an entirely different ghost all picked out and ready for me to, er, coax and convince its way to the bridge.

But, as Bodhi pointed out, as soon as he laid eyes on me, as soon as I took one look at him and deemed him dorky guy, well that’s when he knew I could handle the Radiant Boy—or Boys, as it turned out.

And if, in the end, I couldn’t, he figured I’d have the perfect opportunity to help myself to a nice big slice of the humble pie he claimed I so sorely deserved.

So yeah, maybe we were both feeling a little happy with ourselves.

A little “chuffed” as they say in jolly old England.

But why wouldn’t we?

We’d just accomplished what those in charge, namely the members of the Council, were pretty much sure that we couldn’t.

We’d both greatly succeeded, where a whole host of others had failed.

And all we were left with was the deceptively simple task of getting my sweet yellow Lab off the ground so we could go celebrate our mutual success in London.

But the thing about Buttercup is, no matter how cute and sweet and well behaved he might be, he’s also kind of a wuss (as evidenced by the way he ran from the Radiant Boy, leaving me alone to defend myself).

Not to mention how he’s kind of lazy too.

Because when Bodhi had the (what I thought at the time to be brilliant) idea of tossing his favorite brand of dog biscuits into the air in an attempt to convince him to soar after them, Buttercup just licked his chops, closed his eyes, and manifested his own pile of dog biscuits without so much as moving an inch.

So after several test runs of me soaring around the garden, buzzing my way through the maze with my hair streaming behind me and the wind howling at my cheeks, as Buttercup chased underneath me, barking and tail wagging like crazy—I realized something else about Buttercup.

He’s domesticated.

A bona fide companion animal.

And what he hates more than anything in the world is to be left on his own for too long.

So when I called for Bodhi to join me, urging him to soar alongside me as we headed straight toward London without once looking back, to commit so fully to the mission that Buttercup would think we were never planning to return—he agreed.

Our reasoning being that there was only one way for him to join us on our trip, and that was for him to fly right alongside us.

There would be no carrying allowed.

So, we took off.

Both of us getting a good running start (not because it was necessary, but because it was fun).

Both of us flying side by side and doing our best not to look down as Buttercup chased along underneath us, sure it was some kind of game.

Both of us fully resolved to keep going, to not take a single look back, long after we’d flown over the large perimeter wall that for some strange reason stopped poor Buttercup right there in his tracks, until, just like me facing the Radiant Boys at their scariest, he realized his fear was all in his head and he ran through that too.

Both of us committed to just keep on keeping on—to not cave in to Buttercup’s awful, unceasing, continuous series of forlorn whining, howling, and yelps as he chased underneath us. So sure he’d been dealt a cruel hand of fate, that he’d been permanently and completely abandoned to the ground.

Both of us waiting, hoping for Buttercup’s desire to finally kick in just enough to where he’d be magically boosted and propelled right alongside us.

And just when I was sure I couldn’t take it anymore, just as I was about to break my own promise and swoop down toward my poor frantic dog and scoop him into my arms—

I saw him.

Ears pinned close to his head as his tail wagged like crazy. Causing him to swoop and swerve and even dive-bomb a few times in a way that truly sent my insides spinning, until he figured it out, got ahold of himself, and learned to use it as a rudder, steering him along, and keeping him on course, until he was fully caught up and soaring right there alongside us, as though he’d been doing it for days.

And even though I couldn’t listen in on his thoughts or read what might’ve been going on in his mind, his expression was all I needed to know that he loved every last second of it.

Loved it more than a warm patch of sun, a bowl full of biscuits, and an extra long car ride with all the windows rolled down.

Loved it more than all of those things combined.

Buttercup had found a new favorite pastime.

And he took to it as naturally and gracefully as a bird.

We soared through white, fluffy, mist-laden clouds.

We soared over snowy mountaintops and buildings and rivers and lakes.

We soared past large flocks of birds that Buttercup barked at and chased after, determined to get ahold of one and bring it back proudly as some kind of trophy in the way that he often did when he was alive. Each time glancing back at Bodhi and me in complete and utter confusion, when instead of capturing one of them, he flew directly through them.

And the moment we got to London, I knew.

Bodhi didn’t have to tell me, didn’t have to say a single word.

I just took one look at that wide winding river dotted with bridges and ships and lined with tall buildings, and I recognized it for exactly what it was.

The River Thames, the Westminster Bridge, Big Ben—we flew over it all. We even swooped in really, really close to the topmost capsule on the London Eye, which, in case you don’t know, is pretty much the earth plane’s coolest Ferris wheel, then we swooped down toward the bottom and back up again, trailing it carefully as it went around and around in the sky.

And after that, we took to the streets, gliding above one of those bright-red double-decker buses London is famous for, and past brightly curtained windows of apartment buildings, or flats as the locals refer to them.

Then we swooped down even lower, just barely grazing the tops of tall trees, then lower still, just barely grazing the tops of tall people.

And when I extended my finger, just barely tapping the brim of some guy’s hat and knocking it right off his bewildered head, Bodhi turned toward me, a disapproving look in his eyes as his lips sank down in a frown. But I just laughed and I stuck my tongue out at him before doing it again for good measure.

We kept going, heading toward a busy circle I thought I recognized from pictures I’d seen of Piccadilly, and that’s when I spotted it.

Or rather, them.

The large crowds of people.

All of them hurrying off to the office, or school, or wherever it is that people rush off to after eating their breakfast and getting dressed for the day.

All of them sharing one thing in common—they were all headed somewhere, and they were all determined to get there quickly.

All of those hundreds of people with somewhere to go—every last one of them totally and completely oblivious of me.

Having no clue that I soared right above them.

No idea that it was I who caused the stir on the backs of their necks and the breeze at their cheeks.

Completely unable to see me in the way I could see them.

Clearly.

Succinctly.

Down to every last detail.

They were alive and breathing and so utterly clear to me, and yet—not one of them had even the slightest sense we existed.

A girl, her guide, and her dog—all hovering right there above them.

Gazing upon the clueless masses beneath.

My throat grew all lumpy, and my eyes started to sting, so I forced myself to switch my attention to something else, watching as Buttercup continued to chase birds, looping and spinning and swirling and jumping, putting out increasing amounts of effort to no avail whatsoever, and coming no closer to understanding why he was so unsuccessful.

I even sneaked a peek at Bodhi, who’d ditched the nerd wear the moment we took flight, quick to explain how he thought the suited look would command more respect, make people (meaning me and his guide) take him more seriously than we would had he being wearing his usual gear. Though I think we could both agree that as far as experiments went, that particular one was a massive fail.

But having swapped out the nerd wear for the far more appropriate jeans and sweater and sneakers kids his age usually wear, he was about as far from a dorky guy as one could possibly get. And I guess that’s why he seemed so off before. It was like, from the catcalls that followed him to the stage at graduation, to that casual, slouchy way that he stands, not to mention the way he really tears it up on a skateboard—well, it just didn’t fit with the look he was trying to pull. It’s like he was in disguise before, like he was wearing some kind of costume, determined to hide the fact that he was just like any other normal fourteen-year-old boy.

Only Bodhi wasn’t normal.

Not even close.

Because not only was he dead. Not only was he my guide. But with his hair no longer greased back, with his clothes no longer coming from Nerd Central, with his face no longer obscured by those awful, unbreakable frames that he wore, he was actually, well, cute.

No. Scratch that. Because the truth is, he was way past cute.

He was pretty much the Zac Efron of the afterlife.

But the second he caught my eye, caught me looking at him, I looked away.

The last thing I needed was for him to read those particular thoughts.

And just to protect myself further, just to keep everything orderly and straight and tucked away in its place, I’d also decided that, no matter how cute and nice he might continue to reveal himself to be—he would always, secretly at least, remain dorky guy to me.

It was easier that way.

I pushed my legs together and pointed my toes like arrows, having learned earlier that doing so would rid me of any and all wind resistance, and allow me to soar even faster and higher. And even though I heard Buttercup barking behind me, torn between chasing after me and a whole new flock of birds he’d stumbled upon, even though Bodhi called out to me, saying, “Hey—Riley—just say the word when you’re ready to come in for a landing!” I pretended not to hear.