The Evolution of Mara Dyer (24 page)

“Oh, really?”

“You’d tell them to go die in a fire.”

“Helpful. Thank you.”

Noah stood then, and joined me on my bed. “I only said it because I’m sure that’s not how it works.”

“How
does
it work?” I asked out loud, as my fingers curled into the blanket. They were nearly touching his. My eyes traveled up to his face. “How do you heal things?”

I thought I saw a faint tinge of surprise in Noah’s expression at the sudden shift in the conversation but he answered evenly. “You know that everyone has fingerprints, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“To me, everything has an aural imprint as well. An individual tone. And when someone—or something—is ill or
hurt, the tone is off. Broken. I just . . . innately know how to correct it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Because you’re not musical.”

“Thanks.”

He shrugged. “It’s not an insult. Daniel would get it. If your mother wasn’t in the kitchen, I’d show you.”

“How?”

“You have a piano. Anyway, it’s like . . .” He stared straight ahead, looking for words. “Imagine the melody to a song you know well. And then imagine one note of that song being changed to the wrong key, or to a completely different note.”

“But how do you fix it?”

“If you asked a basketball player how to shoot a perfect free throw, he wouldn’t be able to describe the physiological process that makes it happen. He just . . . does it.”

I inhaled. “But there are so many people.”

“Yes.”

“And animals.”

“Yes.”

“It must get noisy.”

“It does,” Noah said, “I told you before, I learned to tune it out unless I want to focus on one sound in particular.” He smiled. “I prefer,” he said, trailing a finger down my arm, “to listen to you.”

“What do I sound like?” I asked, more breathily than I intended. God, so predictable.

He considered his answer for a moment before he gave it. “Dissonant,” he said finally.

“Meaning?”

Another long pause. “Unstable.”

Hmm.

He shook his head. “Not the way you’re thinking,” he said, the shadow of a smile on his lips. “In music, consonant chords are points of arrival. Rest. There’s no tension,” he tried to explain. “Most pop music hooks are consonant, which is why most people like them. They’re catchy but interchangeable. Boring. Dissonant intervals, however, are full of tension,” he said, holding my gaze. “You can’t predict which way they’re going to go. It makes limited people uncomfortable—frustrated, because they don’t understand the point, and people hate what they don’t understand. But the ones who get it,” he said, lifting a hand to my face, “find it fascinating. Beautiful.” He traced the shape of my mouth with his thumb. “Like you.”

37

H
IS WORDS WARMED ME THROUGH EVEN AS HE
pulled his hand away. I was sure my face fell.

“Your parents,” he said, with a glance at the door.

I got it. But still. “I like hearing about your ability,” I said, my eyes on his mouth. “Tell me more.”

His voice was level. “What do you want to know?”

“When did you first notice it?”

When his expression shifted, I realized I had asked him that question before; I recognized that shuttered look. He was withdrawing again. Shutting down.

Shutting me out.

Something was going on with him, and I didn’t know what it was. He was growing distant, but he wasn’t gone yet. So I quickly said something else. “You saw me in December, after the asylum collapsed, right?”

“Yes.”

“When I was hurt.”

“Yes,” he said again. To anyone else, he would have sounded bored. But I was learning, and now I recognized something else in his voice. Something that never fell from those reckless, careless, lips.

Caution.

I was pressing up against something raw, and I wanted to know what it was.

“You’ve seen other people who were hurt,” I went on, keeping my tone even. “Four?”

Noah nodded.

Keeping my tone light. “Including Joseph.”

He nodded again.

And then I had an idea. I pinched my arm. I watched Noah to see if there was any reaction. There wasn’t, as far as I could tell.

I pinched it again.

He slitted his eyes. “What, exactly, are you doing?”

“Did you see me when I pinched myself?”

“It’s a bit hard to ignore you.”

“When you first told me you saw me,” I started, “in
December, in the asylum—you said you saw what
I
was seeing, through
my
eyes. And when Joseph was drugged, you saw him through someone else’s eyes—the person who drugged him, right? But you didn’t have a—a vision just now, did you? So there’s some factor besides pain,” I said, studying his face as I spoke. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Of course,” he said indifferently.

“Have you tested it?”

His eyes sharpened, then. “How could I? You’re the only one I’ve seen that knows.”

I held his stare. “We can test it together.”

Noah shook his head immediately. “No.”

“We have to.”

“No.” The word was solid and final and laced with something I couldn’t quite identify. “We don’t. There’s absolutely nothing at stake except information.”

“But you’re the one who said that whatever is happening to me is also happening to you—that was your argument for why I can’t be possessed, right?”

“Also because it’s stupid.”

I ignored him. “So figuring out how your ability works could help me figure out mine. And no one would get hurt—”

Noah’s expression grew very serious, and his voice grew dangerously quiet. “Except you.”

“It’s
science
—”

“It’s madness,” he said. He was completely still but
completely on edge. “I’ve never regretted telling you the truth. Don’t make me start.”

“Don’t you want to know what we
are
?”

Something flickered behind his eyes, there and gone before I could identify it. “It doesn’t matter what we are. It matters what we do.” His jaw tightened. “And I won’t let you do that.”

Let?
“It’s not just up to you.”

There was nothing but apathy in his voice when he finally spoke. “I’ll leave.”

“I’ve heard
that
before.” The second the words left my mouth I wished I could take them back. Noah’s expression was as smooth and colorless as glass.

“I’m sorry,” I started to say. But then a few seconds later, when Noah’s expression still hadn’t changed, I said, “Actually, I’m not. You want to go because I don’t agree with you? There’s the door.” I flung my hand dramatically, for emphasis.

But Noah didn’t leave. My outburst thawed whatever had frozen him, and his gaze slid over me. “I wish you had a dog.”

“Oh yeah?” I raised my eyebrows. “Why’s that?”

“So I could take it for a walk.”

“Well, I’ll
never
have a dog, because dogs are either terrified of me or hate me and you won’t help me figure out—”

“Shut up.” Noah’s eyes closed.

“
You
shut up,” I said back, quite maturely.

“No—stop. Say that again.”

“Say what again?”

“About dogs.” His eyes were still closed.

“They’re either scared of me or hate me?”

“Fight or flight,” Noah said as something clearly fit into place for him. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?”

“The difference between the humans and the animals that you’ve—you know,” he gestured. “When we went to the zoo and the insects died, it was because I nearly forced you to touch the ones that terrified you most. But once they were dead, I couldn’t push you anymore.”

Flight.

He ran a hand over his mouth. “In the Everglades, you were terrified we wouldn’t reach Joseph in time, and so you eliminated what was in your way—you reacted—without needing to think.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “You were pushed, and unconsciously you pushed back.”

I knew what was coming next and preempted it. “But with Morales . . .”

“You weren’t afraid,” he said.

“I was angry.”
Fight.

“There are different biochemical reactions that occur in response to different emotions, like stress—”

“Adrenaline and cortisol, I know,” I said. “I took ninth grade bio too.”

Noah ignored me. “And they’re processed differently by the brain—we should read more about this.”

“Okay,” I said. But I was still frustrated; Noah once again managed to turn the conversation back to me, thereby avoiding what I wanted to know about him.

So I said, “I still think we should test your ability.”

Noah’s eyes went sharp—he was uncomfortable again. “You want to do this scientifically? Here,” Noah said, and stood. He crossed the room and picked up a bottle of Tylenol that I left on my bookshelf. Placed it on the floor. “We’ll use the scientific method: My hypothesis is that you can manipulate things with your mind.”

Deflecting again. He didn’t actually believe I could do it; he was just trying to distract me. I went along with him—for now. “Telekinesis?”

“I don’t think so, exactly, but in order to figure out what you
can
do, it would be helpful to know what you can’t do. So here, move this.”

“With my mind.”

“With your mind,” he said calmly. “And I’ll know if you’re not trying.”

I glared at him.

He gave me a nod. “Go on.”

Fine. I’d do this and then it would be my turn to make
him
do something. I dropped to the floor, crossed my legs and hunched forward, staring at the bottle.

About twenty seconds of fruitless silence later, Daniel knocked and pushed my bedroom door open all the way.

“I’m here to announce that we’re departing for the carnival in approximately twenty minutes.” He paused. I felt him look down at me, then up at Noah, then back at me. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Mara is trying to move a bottle of Tylenol with her mind,” Noah said casually.

I glared at him, then back at the bottle.

“Ah, yes,” Daniel said. “I tried that once. Not with Tylenol, though.”

“What did you use?” Noah asked.

“A penny. I also tried that ‘light as a feather, stiff as a board’ game—the levitation one, you know?” he said to Noah. “And Ouija boards, of course,” he said to me, adding a melodramatically meaningful look.

“You played with a Ouija board?” I asked slowly.

“Of course,” Daniel said. “It’s a childhood rite of passage.”

“Who did you play with?”

“Dane, Josh.” He shrugged. “Those guys.”

“Was it yours?” I felt nervous without quite knowing why.

Daniel looked taken aback. “Are you kidding?”

“What?” Noah asked.

“I would never keep one in the house,” Daniel said, shaking his head vehemently. “Conduit to the spirit world, Mara, I told you.”

Noah cracked a wry grin. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

“Hey,” Daniel said. “Even men of science such as ourselves
are entitled to get the heebie-jeebies now and again. Anyway,” he said, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he gestured to the Tylenol bottle, “nice to see you giving
something
the old college try, Mara. Though, my brain is bigger, so if
I
didn’t have any luck—”

I refocused on the bottle and said, “Go away.”

“Any progress on the vampire story?”

“GO AWAY.”

“Good luck!” he said cheerfully.

“I hate you,” I said as Daniel closed the door.

“What vampire story?” Noah asked.

I was still staring at the bottle. The bottle that hadn’t moved. “It was his other theory about my fake alter ego,” I explained. “An alternate to possession.”

“Well, you are awfully pale.”

I exhaled slowly. Refused to look up.

He reached for my bare foot and squeezed my toes. “And cold.”

I pulled my feet away. “Bad circulation.”

“You could always bite me, just to test.”

“I hate you, too, by the way. Just so you know.”

“Oh, I do. I would suggest make-up sex, but . . .”

“Too bad you have scruples,” I said.

“Now you’re just being cruel.”

“I like pushing your buttons.”

“You’d enjoy it more if you undid them first.”

Save me. “I think you should go and help Daniel.”

“With what?”

“Anything.”

Noah stood. There was a mischievous smile on his lips as he left.

I stared at the bottle of Tylenol for another few minutes and tried to envision it moving, but it went nowhere and I gave myself a headache. I popped it open and took two, then trudged into the kitchen and plopped down at the table across from my mother, who was sitting with her laptop. I rested my head on my arms and sighed dramatically.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Why are boys so annoying?”

She chuckled. “You know what my mother used to say?”

I shook my head, still in position.

“Boys are stupid and girls are trouble.”

Truer words were never spoken.

38

D
ELIGHTED SCREAMS PIERCED THE AIR AS
carnival rides swirled and blinked and swung over my head. I walked with my older brother through the crowd of people; it had been years since we were last at a fair, and the second we arrived, our dad dragged our mom onto the Ferris wheel and Joseph absconded with my boyfriend to conquer some ride, leaving me and Daniel alone.

I was flooded with sounds and scents; artificial butter and giggles. Frying dough and swelling shrieks. It felt good to be out like this. Normal.

“Just you and me, sister,” Daniel said as we milled around between booths. “Whatever shall we do?”

A little kid walked by carrying enough balloons to make me wonder how many it would take for her to lift off. I smiled at her, but the second she met my eyes, she darted away. My smile fell.

We passed beneath a row of hanging stuffed animals. “I could win you a teddy bear,” I said to him. My feet crunched over discarded popcorn and I dodged a giant puddle left by an earlier drizzle.

He shook his head. “The games are rigged.”

Noah and Joseph reappeared from the multitudes, then. My little brother looked pale and shaken. Noah’s blue-gray eyes were lit with amusement.