Speed of Light (31 page)

“Mama! Mama!” she called.

“This was the farm before it was the track,” the Woodsman said. “Know they will make snake pit real. Find the old artesian before the last yellow. They’ve got a driv—”

“Art what? Who? What snakes?”

He watched the farm, ignoring my question, as a terrible
clatter and smash erupted from inside the cabin. I felt the pounding of hooves shake the earth.

“Tell me more!” I pleaded.

His lips moved, but his words faded, as did his form.
As if all the strength he has in his soul is depleted
.

A scream rocketed around me. I didn’t know if it was at the window or in the real world. I flinched, losing my focus, and he was gone across the window, moving toward the cabin, picking up a branch as a weapon.

Back in reality, I blinked as my body was jostled and pushed. Another terrible gasp rocked through the crowd. People ran for the jumbo screens or toward the track to see. I tried not to get trampled and stared at the screen nearest me.

Sirens sprang to life and a legion of emergency vehicles sped out onto the track.

I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. Several cars were tangled and engulfed in flames. Explosions rocked the cameras and shook the infrastructure around me. The sounds of tires thumping and bouncing, metal fencing tearing and ripping, and the ping of debris as it ricocheted off—all these echoed around me like sounds of combat. People thrust past me to get a better look; I wasn’t tall enough to see anything over most of them. Those listening to the radio in their headsets shouted updates, trying to tell us who was in the cars, who was walking away, who hadn’t moved yet.

Another crash? This can’t be a coincidence. The Woodsmen
must be right. The Nocti are going to strike here. But when? Today? How?

As if to punctuate the carnage, the wind picked up, unexpectedly blowing black clouds over us. They churned and sputtered. Lightning strobed the sky in the west. Thunder boomed. Without warning, sheets of rain began blanketing the track and all her spectators. Now people ran, not to see better but to get under cover.
It’s as if they think they’ll melt
.

Large drops, snuggled against each other, drenched everything in a matter of breaths.

I merely tried to keep from being trampled and stayed as close to where Tens left me as possible.
Where is he?

The bleachers emptied, overhangs filled. The announcer boomed,
“The National Weather Service has advised us that storm cells are popping up on the radar from the southwest. The severe weather makes it unsafe to continue this afternoon. Please evacuate the stands and head toward storm shelters. Volunteers will direct you toward safe structures around the Speedway.”

People hustled for parking lots. Smoke choked from the crash across the infield in acrid black swaths.

“Supergirl!” Tens stood on a trash bin trying to spot me in the commotion.

I waved and waited for him to fight through to me.

“What happened with Sergio?” I asked him.

“They disappeared into a garage. I couldn’t get past the state patrol guys who showed up when the crash
happened in turn three.” Tens’s hair hung lank, dripping into his face.

“Did you see it happen?” I reached out, needing skin-to-skin contact as reassurance.

“No. Did you speak with souls?” He leaned down briefly and kissed the top of my head.

“The Woodsman was with them. I didn’t understand what he tried to tell me. Auntie and Roshana were there too.”

“We have a lot to talk over, but we have to go to the hospice. Tony texted me—Faye’s slipping quickly.”

I blinked at my sudden tears. “It’s time?”

“Sounds like.”

As a crowd of yellow shirts bustled by us, a bandage hung off of one man’s forearm. But there was no wound, just a tattoo that looked eerily familiar. Like the one on the hot-air balloon. Like the mashed-up symbol Juliet drew for us.
That’s it
. I grabbed Tens’s hand, but by the time we turned toward the group, they were gone into the melee.

“N
o, we have to go get it back.” I stamped my foot in emphasis. I refused to think through how much like Bodie throwing a temper tantrum I might seem.

“We don’t know where she is.” Fara shook her head again.

“She’ll show up. She always does.” I paced the living room. I’d tried to think of everything. There weren’t other options.

“And what are you going to give her instead?” Fara cocked her head as if she knew the answer.

I held my mother’s book in my hands. “This.” My heart lurched at the idea of parting with it. But I stole Rumi’s history; it seemed fair to lose mine in return. He always spoke of karma. Maybe this was mine.

“Does it have the symbol in it?” Fara asked.

“No.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “She’s not going to want it. She’s not going to give you back Rumi’s things either.”

A knock at the door stopped us. Fara checked the Spirit Stone and then opened it. “Sergio?”

“Hi, is Juliet home?” He sounded hesitant and awkward.

She stepped back and motioned him toward me.

No!
I tried to smile, but I think it was more like a grimace.
Don’t take this out on him. He’s been nothing but kind
.

He shuffled inside. “How is the cat doing? I brought you tickets for the race. I don’t know. I thought maybe you might want to go with me?” He held out shiny, colorful tickets.

“Oh. Uh. She’s better, thanks.” I hated small talk.

“Juliet’s not sure she can go,” Fara answered for me. “Want a pop?”

“Sure.” Sergio sat down on the couch. He had to feel the tension. “Why not go to the race? It’s pretty cool. You should see it once before you decide.” He swiveled his head between me and the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“I’m … I’m …,” I stammered, unsure and uncertain.

“Is it that lady again?” He couldn’t seem to let things
hang, as if he were forever impatient. “Is she bothering you still?”

I nodded, latching on to any feasible explanation.

“Want me to teach you some self-defense moves? I took a class.” Sergio did a few staggering, comical chops and kicks that had Fara laughing so hard she couldn’t speak as she came back in.

“Um, no thanks?” I said as he sat back down. “I’m sure you’re really good, but that’s not my, um, style.”
Complete sentences, Juliet. Try them
.

He nodded. “No, really, what’s going on? Nelli come up with something more about your family? I’ve been inputting data as fast as I can.” He wiggled his fingers as if to demonstrate.

“I’m looking for my dad,” I said, because he seemed to already know that.
Nelli must have told him
.

“Is he alive? My mom died in a car crash. Do you know what happened to yours?” Sergio’s expression was sober and caring.

“She died too. I don’t know about my dad.”

“Wow, I’m sorry. I hope he’s okay.”

Fara asked, “Do you have any brothers? Sisters?”

He shook his head. “A brother. I’m trying to find him. We were sent to different foster families when we were little. I don’t even know if he’s still in Indiana. He’d be fifteen now.”

My heart bled a little seeing the pain in his eyes. “Now I’m sorry. That must be really hard,” I said. I knew what siblings who were split apart went through—so
many came through DG not knowing where the rest of their family was.

“Yeah, it is. I’d do almost anything to find him. Be a family again.” Sergio drank a huge gulp of his Coke. He pointed to our shoes. “Did I interrupt something? You look like you’re getting ready to go out.”

“Uh, well …” I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Juliet thinks she dropped a book at the cellar the other night. We were so scared we didn’t have a chance to go back.”

“Let’s go.” Sergio leapt to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” I felt panic well.

Fara didn’t try to rescue me. I knew she wanted to sabotage my plan. “I’ll drive.”

“Cool.” Sergio left the soda can and tickets on the coffee table but picked up his backpack.

I squirreled my mother’s book into my bag and followed them.
Ms. Asura won’t talk to us in front of Sergio, will she?

“I don’t see anything.” Sergio swept the cellar with his flashlight again. “Are you sure you left it here?”

“I don’t know.”
Think faster, Juliet
.

“Back so soon?” Ms. Asura’s voice preceded her descent down the stairs. “And you, how interesting.” She spotted Sergio but didn’t hesitate to continue. She stayed on the steps blocking our only exit.

“Did you pick up a book around here?” he asked, setting his jaw and stepping forward as if he could protect us.

“A book? Here?” She laughed. “I like to read dirty stories, but not this kind of dirty.”

I cleared my throat and said, “If you did find something, I would trade you for this.” I held out my mother’s book.

She nodded to Sergio. “Hand me that, young man.”

He frowned and I had to shove it into his hands. He leaned forward rather than walking too close.
Even he knows she’s not a good person
.

She flipped through it. “This? This doesn’t interest me.” She threw it into the mud at our feet.

“Hey, that was uncalled for.” Sergio knelt and tried to wipe the dirt off the cover with his sleeve. He reached into his backpack for a napkin.

“You’re becoming tedious.” Ms. Asura sighed. “The key. We want the key.”

“The key to what?” Sergio stood up, shaking his head. “This place isn’t locked.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time to play games with children. Find it. You’re running out of time.” She turned to leave.

“Wait!” I yelled. “I need to know more. I don’t know what to trade you to get back what I left here.” I glanced at Sergio, hoping he wasn’t smarter than Kirian and that speaking in vague terms might go over his head.

“Not pretty pictures. You might want to go take a
gander along the banks of the creek. I think you dropped yours out there.”

By the time we’d clamored up the steps, she’d disappeared down the drive in her sports car.

We ran along the property to the edge of the creek. There, hanging from the branch of my tree, was Rumi’s open portfolio. Below it, swirling in the water’s currents or heading downstream, were bits of dissolving papers. Rumi’s ink drawings of windows, notes, collections of letters.

I threw myself into the water, Fara and Sergio beside me, collecting the pages as quickly as we could.

“What is all this?” Sergio called, heading into the worst of the eddies to get to the ones stuck near the other side.

We didn’t answer him as we relayed pages and ripped pieces to the shore.
Ruined. It’s all ruined
.

Huffing and puffing, we fell against the grass when we’d collected everything we could. The old leather swung from the tree above like a macabre reminder I’d never have the upper hand on the Nocti. Never escape from the pain that I brought to those around me.

“What was all this?” Sergio pressed, trying to spread the crumpled mush flat.

“It was all I had to find my parents,” I whispered.

He nodded. “Maybe when they dry out? Maybe you can read it then?”

“We need to take them to our friend. Maybe he can fix them.” Fara clasped my hand and pulled me to my feet. “We need to go now.”

Sergio carefully helped load the sticky, disintegrating pages into the trunk of Tony’s car. “Do you want me to go with you? I have a class, but I’ll skip it if you need me—”

“No, thank you,” Fara answered him. “You are very helpful, but there’s nothing else you can do today.”

We drove in silence, Sergio sneaking glances at me. I didn’t have the ability to reassure him at all.

“You can just drop me off up there at the bus stop. I’ll, um, call you tomorrow? Okay?” he asked me. He reached into his backpack. “I almost forgot—here’s your book. I don’t think the dirt hurt it too much.”

I think I nodded. I had almost let him walk off with my mother’s sonnets. I clutched it to my chest.

When Fara parked outside of Rumi’s shop, she paused. “This is part of your path.”

“He’s never going to forgive me.”

“He will when he knows you tried to give up yours for his. That’s something.”

“It’s not enough.” I swallowed. “It’s never enough.”

F
aye was sunk in on herself. Barely a shell of who she’d been at the wedding even three days ago.

“She’s been nonresponsive since late last night.” Gus hugged us. He, too, seemed to have aged and worn thin at the edges.

Rumi arrived bearing bags of takeout—burgers and waffle fries from Bub’s, pizza from Uno’s, doughnuts and sandwiches from Auntie Em’s, lasagna and meatballs from Donatello’s. As if he’d picked up food from each restaurant on his way down Main. “Comfort food.” He shrugged. He’d already strung newly blown Spirit Stones, glass
birds and fireflies, along the terrace doors and windows.
To make all these new pieces, he must not be sleeping
.

A vase of wedding flowers with butterflies and birds on sticks tucked between the stems was another gentle reminder that life was lived in breaths and moments. Nelli fussed with them, changing the water, rearranging the blossoms.