“Listen here.” Michael Ackerman draws himself straighter and taller. “I don’t think you know who you’re messing with, you understand what I’m saying? The girl is supposed to be detained.”
The boy shakes his head with resignation. “I tried. I tried to tell you.” He looks at me. “Didn’t I try to tell him?”
“I… I suppose —”
My words are cut off when the boy raises his hand and says something in a language I don’t recognize. At first the air around us falls strangely silent. Even the waves breaking against the shore seem to be soundless, as though the energy of the elements has been silenced by the boy’s incantation. Then, all at once, the ground begins to shake. There is a moment — a split second, really — when we exchange hurried glances, the boy’s unexplainably satisfied and Michael Ackerman’s both knowing and afraid. I don’t understand why his hand on my arm releases its grip until I look down and see the ground opening up beneath him. The sand parts seamlessly underneath his feet until he sinks, swallowed bit by terrified bit, into the ground. It all happens in an instant, and when I blink, Michael Ackerman is gone, the sand as smooth as if he were never there at all, the waves resuming their hypnotic rhythm.
I turn to the boy. “But… What… Where…What have you done with him?”
He sighs. “C’mon, now! Don’t be upset. I gave him plenty of warning, and you saw how easy he went down. Besides, he was gonna take you to the Lost Souls.” His speech is strange and loose, without care for manners or proper grammar.
I take a step back. I don’t have time to question his bizarre display of magic, which, cruel as it may seem, has just saved me. My concerns are more personal and far more pressing. “And how do I know you’re any better? Perhaps you will take me to the Souls as well. After all, you’re here in the Otherworlds just as they are.”
“Yeah, but I’m not one of them. I’m only here because I haven’t crossed over yet.”
I narrow my eyes at him as if it will help me determine his honesty. “And why is that?”
“I don’t know, but there are lots of spirits here like me. Sometimes we stay by choice, and sometimes we just… stay.” He shrugs. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me taking you to the Souls.” He leans in, lowering his voice and looking around as if for eavesdroppers. “Thomas — er, your father — has been looking after me, see? Protecting me from all kinds of weird things. This place?” He looks skyward, affecting a low whistle. “It’s crazy. Anyway, Thomas asked me to look for you. Thomas and your mother.”
It is the boy’s familiar use of my father’s name together with mention of my mother that makes me believe him. “You’ve seen my mother? Here?”
He nods. “Of course. They’re together! What did you expect? She’s pretty, you know.” He blushes. “A bit like you in the eyes.”
I have to swallow the excitement that rises in my throat. “Can you help me? Can you take me to them?”
He presses his lips together, looking skyward and then along the beach, before leaning in, his voice low. “I can’t help you, in so many words. The punishment for doing so would be…” He shudders. “Well, it would be bad, okay? But I can… direct you a bit, and if someone should happen to notify your father that you’re here, wandering the Otherworlds in search of him, well… who’s to know, if we keep it quiet?”
“Listen, I would greatly appreciate your help. I don’t have a lot of time, and it is imperative that I find… you know.” His paranoia becomes my own, and I lower my voice and look around before continuing. “How do you suggest I proceed?”
He leans in, lowering his voice to a whisper and touching my arm with fingers I feel only as the whisper of a breeze. “You have to think only of him. Don’t even bother thinking of a place. You can’t know where he is. Not really. But he will try and find you. Just not here.”
I still fear listening to this boy with his strange speech and stranger attire. Suppose it is a trick? Then again, suppose it isn’t? Suppose he is trying to help?
I have no choice, I decide. I shall have to trust that he means to help. Otherwise I shall be a gray-haired old woman, still standing on the beach in one world and lying on a leather sofa in another.
“So I shall have to travel to another world, then?”
He nods. “I’m afraid so. But trust me on this; if you just think of Thomas and nothing else, he’ll find you. He’s been trying to reach you for a long time.”
He turns as a breeze blows off the ocean, bringing a chill to the air that makes me cross my arms and look to the water. The wind dies all at once, the suddenness of it reminding me that I am not in my own world.
When I look back the boy is gone. I am once again alone on the deserted beach. I look around to be sure, but there can be no doubt. The boy has vanished as if I never saw him at all. I hurry to a slab of rock near the lapping shore, arranging my skirts haphazardly about my legs. I am eager to find my father and get back to Birchwood, back to the world I know. Closing my eyes, I think of my father and begin counting, the numbers a prayer on the breeze off the water.
“One… two… three… four…”
I am off the ground but not flying. Not exactly. Instead, I am caught in a black vortex, pulled in every direction. This is not the swift and effortless journey from world to world, but a churning sea that makes me feel as if I cannot breathe. The panic that rises within me is instinctual. I wonder if the man I met on the beach has told the Souls of my presence in the Otherworlds, if they will try to take me to the Void.
In an instant, my feet touch the ground. I did not realize my eyes were closed until I open them to the world around me. It is almost colorless, ice reaching as far as the eye can see. The sky is white, stretching above and beyond, making it difficult to see where the ice beneath my feet ends and the bleached sky above begins.
Instinct tells me to run, to leave this world as swiftly as possible, to try to find my father in another, but I decide to wait, to give Father the time to find me if he is, in fact, searching for me here. Though there is nowhere to go, I don’t like the feeling of standing exposed on the ice. I shuffle forward until a low, echoing call catches my attention. I stop, listening.
It is a voice, muffled and coming from a distance. Holding very still, I try to make out the words but cannot, so I make my way toward the sound. There are no landmarks by which to gauge my progress. But I know I am approaching someone, because the voice grows louder. It is the strangest sensation, to hear the voice grow nearer and nearer though there is not a thing in sight — not a building or tree or cave. Nothing.
As I grow closer to the source of the voice, I feel certain it is calling out as if in need of help. I walk faster, though it is awkward across the treacherous ground, and I am uncertain of the kind of help I could provide. The voice is very near now, and I stop, looking around for the source of it before shuffling forward once again, feeling as I am playing the childhood game “Hot or Cold.” I know the boy on the beach would tell me to be silent and wait for Father, but it is impossible to stand so near the moaning without inquiring after the person making the noise.
“Hello? Is someone there? Are you all right?” I feel silly, shouting into the emptiness.
The moaning stops, but only for a moment. It resumes soon enough, and now, at last, I make out some of the words. “Help… Help me… Please.” It sounds like a woman.
I look around, trying to figure where the person might be calling from. “Hello? Where are you?”
“Help… me.” The voice is at my elbow, almost on top of me. “Please… save… me.”
This time there can be no doubt. The voice is not at my elbow, but under my feet. I bring my gaze to the ice, slipping as I see the figure frozen beneath it. I stifle a scream, the sudden movement causing me to slip, arms and legs flailing as I fall. I scramble on hands and knees, slipping and sliding to get away from the person entombed in the ice directly under me, though there is no reason why I should be afraid of her. The face is colorless, but p
erfectly preserved within the ice. Even her hair is frozen, stretched out in the ice behind her.
When she speaks, her lips move almost imperceptibly. “Help me. They… are… coming.”
I am overcome with both terror and pity. I want to help, but truth be told, my desire to help wars with a powerful urge to flee, to run as far as possible from the gruesome image. My mind pages through the possibilities and comes to a quick conclusion; there is no time to help. If I am to find Father and locate the list, I must steer clear of the Souls. It will not do to stay in one place for long, particularly a place as frightening and dangerous as this one.
As I scramble to stand, the voice of the woman beneath me becomes the voices of many, all moaning, their voices stretching into the air around me, grasping and tugging until I feel as if their icy hands pull me toward the ice.
“Help… us… Lost… Die… Please… Release us… Child…” The voices morph together, warped, insinuating themselves into my mind until I hold my hands over my ears as I stand, gasping for breath, immobilized by fear and horror.
I remember my last thought as I left the beach. And I know I am in the Void.
28
I shake my head against the knowledge, but the truth cannot be denied. I was brought here, not by the Souls, but by my own fear… my own thoughts when traveling.
Thoughts have power, Lia. Especially in the Otherworlds.
The memory of Sonia’s voice shakes me from my stupor. I close my eyes and picture my father. In my mind, I make room for nothing else.
Father, Father, Father.
I am lifted, the frozen landscape below becoming distant. As I rise, I see the faces… so many faces trapped under the ice, stretched as far as the eye can see. A multitude of souls, banished and frozen for all eternity.
And then I am back in the vortex. Back into darkness.
When I open my eyes, I am floating just over the grass, moist with dew. I know I am near Birchwood in the parallel plane of the Otherworlds, though there is nothing but fields and trees in every direction. It is evening, and when I look to the sky I see that it is not the gray sky under which Alice made her threats, but the deep and darkening violet of my first, invigorating travel over the sea.
I recognize the large oak that shades the clearing by the river. Father often brought me here when I was a child, reading to me in summer under the shade of the leafy giant. I lower my feet to the downy grass.
I am not afraid.
Walking to the tree, I have the greatest sense of expectation, as if I am waiting for something wonderful that I cannot quite name. When they emerge from the forest, I understand why.
Father appears younger than I remember, though Mother looks just as I have imagined, a young wife and mother. Her laugh travels to me on the breeze as they approach, hand in hand. She looks up at Father with adoration. I feel an intruder, as if this moment is theirs alone. But it lasts only a second. When they see me, their faces light with smiles.
In an instant they are standing before me. I throw myself into Father’s arms.
“Father! Is it you?” My voice is muffled in the shoulder of his overcoat.
His big laugh surrounds us, reverberating through his chest. “Of course it’s me, love! Who else would be walking, arm in arm, with your lovely mother?”
The mention of my mother is a reminder that Father and I are not, after all, alone.
“Mother. I… I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it’s you.”
She smiles, tipping her head in a gesture that reminds me of Aunt Virginia and a little of Alice. “I had to come. It seems you need us now more than ever.” Worry colors her eyes.
I nod. “I have come to know the prophecy and my place in it as well. I must find the list of names, but I don’t know where Father has hidden it.” I turn my face to him. “Was it you? When we spoke through Sonia… through the… the Spirit Talker?” I remember the word used while Sonia was in the spirit trance.
He hesitates before nodding. “I tried to tell you about the list, but I couldn’t hear you clearly. And then He came.”
The words bring a chill to my blood though the wind is as soft as ever. “Yes.”
“I was forced to leave or risk being held and taken to the Void. I would be there now if not for your mother’s power. She intervened when the Souls tried to banish me there. We have been running from them ever since.” He turns to look down at her, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close in a gesture of deep affection that brings a lump to my throat.
He turns back to me. “I knew you needed me. That is why I haven’t crossed… why neither of us has crossed.” He looks around, lowering his voice. “Word has gone out across the worlds, Lia. Word that you are to be stopped if anyone sees you. Samael is feared above all else, and his Army ensures that the weaker spirits among us do his bidding. They have spies in every corner. We have allies… those who will help us if they can, but it will not be possible to hold the Souls at bay for long. It is not safe for you here, or for us.”
I take a deep breath. “Then we must move quickly. Tell me where the list is, Father, so that I can find the remaining keys.”
He leans forward, his lips near my ear, and whispers. “I left it in care of the one I love. In my chamber.”
I try to decode his words as I remember our search through his room. “But I have —”
He holds a hand up then, as if to stop me from speaking further. Placing a finger to his lips, he looks around us. I understand his meaning; we may be spied upon, even now.
I shake my head, trying to tell him that the list is not there. That I have looked and looked, but the list still eludes me.
But he nods firmly, as if to say, Yes. It IS there. You must look again.
I repeat his words in my mind: I left it in care of the one I love.… In my chamber.
The image comes to me suddenly, as easily as if it were there all along. I look into his eyes and nod, feeling a welcome burst of hope.
He looks up as the sky darkens, casting shadows about us where before there were none. “We must go, Lia. Our time is nearing its end.”
My chest tightens at the thought of their leaving. Against my wishes, I have grown accustomed to the responsibility of my role in the prophecy. I have grown accustomed to going without Father’s comforting embrace, his steady hand. But being with my parents again, if only for a moment, has reminded me of all I have lost.
“I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.” I am not ashamed to sound like a piteous child.
My mother steps forward, pulling me into an embrace. “Lia.” She breathes into my hair, and I smell the jasmine on her neck. “I’m sorry I’ve brought this upon you. But you are the Angel, the one sister who can end the prophecy forever. And it is meant to be so, however much we wish it were not. It was always meant to be you. There are no mistakes, Lia. Not ever. For ages and ages, the sisters have been waiting only for you.”
I want to deny her words, even now after all I have seen. But there is truth in them. And so I nod, staring into the eyes that are so like the ones I see every morning when I look into the glass above the basin in my room. I nod to tell her that I understand. That I accept my duty in the prophecy, the duty that she passed on to me. That I am not afraid.
Father looks up into the sky. It is still blue, but the cold wind has returned and with it the vaguest sense of danger.
He looks at me with apology. “We must go.”
I lift my chin. “Yes.”
I nod, already sensing the futility of trying to keep them with me. Even now they are less vivid, less present, than they were only a few moments earlier.
My mother gives me a last embrace. “I knew it was you, even in the beginning, but I saw something in your eyes, something that gave me hope. I’m only sorry I was not strong enough to fight it for you.”
I shake my head. “Remember, Mother. There are no mistakes.”
She smiles through her tears, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “No m
istakes, my angel.” They turn to go, more quickly than I would like. Mother turns back once more, her face clouding over with worry. “Watch out for Henry, Lia. Will you?”
She does not wait for my answer, but I nod anyway, shouting after them. “I love you. I love you both.”
It is all I have time to say. And then they are gone.
Emotion courses through me as I travel in the direction of Birchwood. There is great sorrow at the parting with my mother and father but great happiness as well. It fills me so totally that I feel as if their love pushes me through the sky.
I marvel at the control I have gained in the Otherworlds in so short a time, the new assurance I feel in the direction and speed with which I fly.
But that is before a distant crack sounds from the sky behind me.
It begins as a vibration, and I feel sure the ground shakes though I am not touching it at all. With it comes a low rumbling from the earth, as if it might break open from the sheer force of the thing that thunders toward me.
A looming mass lies ahead. I feel quite sure it is Birchwood, but when I look behind me I see the Souls roaring toward me in a great, black horde. From a distance they seem a buzzing cloud of insects, but I know they will be here all too soon and will be anything but easy to swat away.
The call of Birchwood, of familiarity and safety, is powerful, but I do not trust myself to outrun the Souls. I stop flying, having made the only decision that offers any hope of escape, and imagine myself hovering over the ground until I am doing just that.
And then I wait, watching the cloud get bigger, darker, louder, as it makes its way toward me. I shall have to face them here, in the skies of their own world. I would like to say that I am not frightened, that I stand brave and firm in the face of the Souls. But it would be a falsity, for who could stand without fear before the roaring legion making its way toward me? No, I am more than frightened. I am terrified to the point of shaking, even in my astral being. But I stand fast, forcing myself steady.