Shine (32 page)

Seana came back to us. “Sorry, we don’t have his name and aren’t sure how he sneaked in before operating hours.”

Meanwhile, Mary Frances and a security guard were approaching the man. Zachary slipped his cell phone out of his jacket and pressed an icon on the screen that read “Simple Notepad.” A camera function came up, one with loads more fancy options than the regular one.

The security guard spoke to Bland Man, who withdrew a black-leather folding wallet. He opened it to show the guard, who nodded, then curled his fingers to tell him to hand it over. Bland Man stepped back, shaking his head, then relented. The security guard brought the badge close to his face, then flipped it over to look at the casing.

“Got it.” Zachary nudged my arm. “Let’s go.”

Though we still had ten minutes before meeting the bus to take us to Newgrange itself, we went out the door into the damp morning air.

The path led to a wooden bridge over the River Boyne, which was a couple of hundred feet wide. Zachary stopped halfway across the bridge, his back to the visitor center. I stood close to him while he flipped through the dozens of photos he’d taken in just a few seconds.

“Did MI-X give you that spy camera, too?” I asked him.

“I downloaded it from the app market. Anyone can get it.” He glanced up at me once, then again, and this time his gaze stuck to mine.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

“We’re really here.” He touched my face, then kissed me, with such aching tenderness I had to grip the bridge’s railing to keep from toppling. “Sorry,” he said when he pulled away. “Just having a moment.”

“Not a problem.”
Just my head spinning off my shoulders.

“Ah, here we are.” He pressed the phone screen repeatedly to zoom in on the image he’d found: the white interior of Bland Man’s badge, displayed when the security guard had flipped it over to look at the outside.

I couldn’t make out the agent’s name, but the logo above it was brilliantly clear:
NIGHTHAWK
.

This guy was much more dangerous than a DMP agent. He was a superspy for the private security firm that SecuriLab had hired. The firm that might’ve been responsible for the crash of Flight 346. And unlike the DMP and MI-X, Nighthawk could go anywhere, even Ireland. They followed no laws.

Zachary drew himself up and looked back toward the visitor center. “Fucking hell.”

On the bus ride, all twenty-two of us—the visitors, driver, and guide—were completely silent. The sky began to lighten as the bus rumbled down the narrow lane, so that when the trees cleared, we saw the grass-topped megalith mound, high on the hill.

Newgrange.

In the predawn light, its white quartz walls glowed an unearthly blue. My throat closed up with a wave of emotion.

Zachary leaned across me to see out the bus window, then sucked in a breath full of wonder. For once I didn’t want to look at his face, or at anything but the megalith.

We held tight to each other’s hands as they led us up the grassy slope toward the entrance. Dozens of spectators milled about, people who weren’t lucky enough to go inside, but had come to be part of the festivities. Like my mom had done, until Zachary’s dad had given her his extra ticket.

With that one act, Ian had changed all our lives. He’d made my life
possible
.

Our guide, Glenna, stopped us outside the entrance and explained what Newgrange was all about. Zachary and I stood beside the seven-foot-tall standing stone, placed directly in front of the entrance and aligned with the solstice sunrise. It was splotched with lichen and moss, which I found comforting. Even on a slab of dead rock, life was taking hold.

Like everyone else, we kept glancing eastward, past the road, past the fields of cows and sheep, past the steady silver River Boyne. We were all hoping the string of clouds along the horizon would dissipate in time for the sunrise.

Glenna clapped her hands. “Time to go inside, lucky ones.”

We filed past the massive main kerbstone, etched with spirals and jagged lines, and approached the dark entrance door. I thought of the first time I’d seen it, in a photo my mother had taken nineteen years
ago today. Sitting in Gina’s closet two summers ago, I couldn’t have imagined the journey I was beginning. Even now, I couldn’t imagine where that journey would end.

We entered Newgrange at last.

Dim electric lights shone along the passageway. Zachary and I had to let go of each other so we could walk single file, then shuffle sideways. Even I had to duck below the wooden lintels supporting the ceiling. The passage curved to the right a little, then the left, then the right again. I remembered from my studies that this curvature gave the sunrise’s beam of light a small path so that it would only enter on these few days.

We arrived at the chamber itself, tinier and yet more magnificent than I’d ever dared to dream. We were finally here.

“Welcome to Newgrange,” Glenna said, then repeated it in Gaelic. “We’ve got about ten minutes until the sun enters the chamber, so I’ll tell you a bit about some of the features here. First I need everyone to back up toward the walls to let the light shine through, with the shorter people in front.”

Zachary stood behind me near the recess farthest from the entrance, the one with the triple spiral carved on one of its stones. I remembered we’d seen it on the replica at the Maryland Science Center back in April. My heart had broken that day with the pain of being near Zachary but not
with
him. Seeing it now, by his side, made my heart dance. When I looked back, Zachary’s eyes were fixed on the spirals, too.

“The eastern recess over here has two stone basins instead of one,” Glenna said. “Archaeologists believe that the smaller one was a birthing bowl.”

“Women would have babies in here?” an English lady asked her. “In the same place where the bodies had been buried?”

“Yes, although probably not at the same time. Newgrange is a place where the living and the dead were side by side, spiritually at least. Quite like post-Shifters today. Newgrange’s builders were acutely aware of the cycle of life.”

“Did they do human sacrifices here?” asked a guy with a Brooklyn accent.

“No. We know the people who built Newgrange were peaceful. What a society values most, they bury with their dead. No weapons were found with the remains, only jewelry and household items.”

I thought of Mickey slipping Logan’s favorite guitar pick into the pocket of his blue burial suit.

“It’s almost time now,” Glenna said, “so I’m going to turn off the lights.”

With a flick of a switch, the darkness was complete. I could barely breathe. Had my mother felt this way when she stood here waiting for the sunrise? Did she have any inkling of what her presence would bring forth?

Soon a great cry went up from outside. The sun had risen over the hills. Any moment now it would reach the roof-box, and then the passageway, and then the chamber.

Zachary slid his arm around my front as the passageway began to glow.

Then it suddenly dimmed. Everyone in the chamber groaned with disappointment. A cloud had stolen the sun.

“Just wait a moment,” Glenna said. “There could be a break.”

I clutched Zachary’s arm with both hands, fearing I would pass out. But he felt as solid as the stone surrounding us.

All at once, a red-orange beam of light appeared, shooting into the chamber like a celestial laser. The tiny room echoed with gasps.

My mind blanked, suspended in that moment. I now understood, at my core, the meaning of the word “solstice”:
sun standing still
. The whole world had stopped. Sound. Light. Movement. My heart. All stopped.

Zachary held me tight against him, his own breath uneven. The rare light exploding here in the dark chamber made me think, strangely or maybe not so strangely, of the two of us in bed. The ancients must have known how sacred every act of life and love could be, so they’d built Newgrange to honor this union of stone and sky.

Glenna spoke softly. “Right now, you are experiencing New-grange the way our ancestors did five thousand years ago. If you’d like, you may step around the chamber clockwise and through the light itself. Beginning with you there by the door. Yes, the lady in the lovely pink coat.”

The couple she pointed to stepped forward eagerly. We shuffled along the chamber wall, passing the eastern recess with the double basins.

All was silent except for soft sniffles and gasps. My own face was damp with tears, but I didn’t wipe them away. Each drop felt like it carved a sacred river down my face. Each breath entering my lungs filled me with strength.

Ahead of us, an elderly man and woman holding hands moved forward out of the beam. Zachary and I angled our bodies sideways, his behind mine, then together, we stepped into the light.

For half a second, I gazed out toward the horizon, greeting the sunrise in its orange-gold glory.

Then a veil fell between me and the sun, turning it first bloodred, then black. Zachary gripped my shoulders. I drew in a breath to scream.

Out of the blackness emerged a new color.

Violet.

The sun had turned to ghost.

I stared, frozen, as Zachary whispered a soft word of Gaelic wonder.

The violet waves streamed toward us in a brain-blaring burst. Then it changed again, to that color I’d seen only four times before: the brilliant white-gold shine of a ghost passing on.

I blinked, and the beam returned to yellow-orange, a glorious but utterly normal sunrise.

Glenna cleared her throat. “If you please …”

Zachary and I moved as one, sidestepping out of the light. His face mirrored my shock.

No one else seemed to notice a change in the light. Their faces were painted in a deep bliss. While I felt that, too, it was swamped by one shattering hope, a hope that verged on certainty.

We had ended the Shift.

A
fter months of wanting nothing more than to be inside Newgrange, I couldn’t wait to get out.

Zachary and I emerged into the morning light, where the crowd outside was cheering for the solstice.

“Our bus leaves in thirty minutes!” Glenna announced. “Take your time, look around the monument and the satellite sites. I’m happy to answer any questions.”

She definitely couldn’t answer our question.

I tugged Zachary’s hand, pulling him past intricately carved kerbstones that we should have been studying and admiring. We kept walking until we were completely alone, at the opposite side of the megalith.

Then I turned and grasped Zachary’s forearms. “What. The. Hell.”

“What did you see?” His eyes were wild with excitement. “The sun turn red, then black, then purple, then white?”

“Violet, not purple, but yeah. Then it was normal again.”

“Could it have been a trick of the light? An afterimage?”

“A trick of the light?” I shook him. “Zach, the sun disappeared!”

I shut up as a family of three rounded the bend. They stopped at the kerbstone next to us, the most ornate of them all.

Zachary led me off the path, down the grassy hill. “What do you think it means?”

I tried to put the words in the right order to make some kind of sense. “The sun went through the light spectrum to red, then faded to nothingness. When it was black, it felt kinda like a shade.”

“That’s what shades feel like?”

“They feel worse. But then the sun turned violet again, like a ghost. And when it became golden-white, it felt like a soul leaving this world.” My throat lumped. “I think it was the Shift passing on.”

His eyes softened. “No more ghosts?”

“Maybe. I guess I’ll find out soon.”

“Only if you’re away from me. And only if I don’t kiss you for hours.”

My heart sank. “Or you could look for them without me. I’ve given you my violet.”

“No.” Zachary held me at arm’s length to look me in the eye. “You’re the one who’s spent your life seeing ghosts. You should be the one to
not
see them.”

He was right. I hated the thought of not kissing him for however long it took his red to wear off me. But this was my journey first.

“It’s been almost an hour since you kissed me on the bridge.”

“Aye.” His thumb traced my cheekbone. “D’ye think we could reset the clock right now, though?”

I heaved a sigh of mock reluctance. “If you insist.” My arms encircled his waist, pulling him close. “But only because it’s our birthday.”

Zachary and I inhaled a huge breakfast at the Newgrange visitor center tea shop, then drove south to the Hill of Tara. Zachary insisted on going, despite the intermittent rain. I didn’t mind. If we had to physically stay apart for hours, I wanted to keep myself occupied.

The guidebook’s aerial shot of Tara showed impressive rings and mounds formed of earth and grass, and dotted with monuments. But from the ground, it kinda looked like, as I put it, “a big lumpy field.”

Zachary threw me an exasperated glance as we walked through the center of the complex. “The most sacred site in all of Ireland, the burial ground of ancient kings, the legendary final resting place of a mysterious race of Stone Age beings—is a big lumpy field?”