Chapter 13: Impossible World
All the impossibilities of my new world are waiting in line to beat down my personal wall of common sense. The stones crumble faster with each passing moment.
Standing, I gasp. Air sucks away from my lungs, holding my voice prisoner. I lift one finger and point at Sam.
There’s no rational reason for what I’m looking at, but it puts me over the edge when I see it. Sam twirls a pencil on the palm of her hand—suspended ten inches in the air. Weightless. I just stand paralyzed, watching in a stupor. What else can you do when a thirteen-year-old defies the law of gravity?
When she finally lifts her eyes to mine and registers my reaction, the object drops to the floor. She casually leans down to pick up the pencil.
“What’s with you?” she asks condescendingly. “Don’t you know anything?”
I’m speechless. Apparently, I know nothing.
Mona steps between us. “Sam,” she clears her throat. “Sera only recently learned of her abilities.” Mona gives her a disapproving look.
“Right. I forgot.” The girl’s defense breaks. She gracefully recalls her previous pose, turns up her nose, and neatly folds her hands in her lap.
“Well, maybe you’ve had enough for one morning,” Mr. Evanston quickly inserts. He rises from his desk. Terease saunters back to the window.
“Gabe, why don’t you finish up with Seraphina’s tour of the building,” he requests.
“Aye, aye, cap-e-tain.” Gabe snaps his legs shut with a quick salute, then ushers us out the door.
Mona pushes me out of the office and down the hall, navigating me with one hand latched on my shoulder. She leads me in the correct direction behind Gabe. Right now, I lack enough wherewithal to make the action of walking happen on its own.
Out of nowhere, I receive a shove from behind. Ramrod, with perfect posture, Sam speed-walks past us down the hall. She doesn’t even look back to apologize. My face crumples. I’m not sure what her problem is, but I don’t exactly care at this moment.
“She’s been waiting for you for a while.” Mona seems to assume I’m offended. She clarifies further. “Sam and your Protector, that is. They’re only permitted to take Normals’ studies until you arrive. You’d think she’d be happy that you’re finally here. Right?” She looks nervous.
The anxiety that’s been building all morning, and possibly my lack of sleep, cause a rush of blazing heat to my face. My palms become clammy, and I stop in the hall to face Mona. “I don’t care about little Miss Snot, Mona.” I take a deep breath and continue my rant. “What was that—back there—that thing—with the pencil?” I point toward the office, my eyes wide open in question.
The marble hall intensifies the sound of my rage. Gabe spins around, surprise written on his face.
Mona takes a long breath. She seems taken aback by my angry expression. Her bony arms collapse over her body. “It’s merely a part of her abilities,” she says in a controlled voice. “And I realize that doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.” She grabs my shoulders and looks me square in the eyes. “Seraphina, from here on out, you will be seeing the impossible. It goes well beyond your gift of travel. Just promise me you will try to remain—” she pauses as she searches for the correct words, “—open-minded.”
I stand rigid. My mind roadblocks on the words “the impossible.” When my brain catches up to respond, it’s too late. Mona is already walking away. I nod, but it’s only to myself. There’s nothing for me to say. There’s more than this? More that I haven’t seen?
“Sera,” Gabe calls out from down the hall. “Let’s move it—chop, chop. This place is as large as the Taj Mahal.”
In a catatonic mode, I walk to meet them. My thoughts are still swirling when Gabe propels me into an elevator off the main atrium. I fall in and prop myself up against the back wall. Digging my hands in my pockets, I let out a long breath. I close my eyes, hoping this will reboot my brain.
When the elevator jumps to life, my eyes pop open. I look down, surprised at the direction we’re moving. As we descend, clearing the first floor structure, sunlight peeks from behind the wall I stand nearest. I squint. Where is the light coming from? It grows and intensifies, revealing the open-aired, barred walls of the elevator. A breeze rushes into the cage. My new view is as I expect—unexpected.
When the car stops, Mona and Gabe step out from the elevator into the space as they have apparently done a million times before. They’re completely comfortable with their surroundings. When I step out, I halt at the sight of an ancient redwood drawbridge at my feet and a wide river of turquoise water rushing beneath it. There are two bulky, rusted chains. One side securely latches to the wooden drawbridge and the other to an ash-colored stone wall. Lush, jade-colored ferns and moss grow, covering the mortar.
Tarnished lions stand at attention on granite slabs on either side of the bridge. They look as though they belong on the steps of a large museum in New York, rather than at the foot of a wooden gate beneath the earth’s surface.
As I tentatively move forward, a low roar emanates from the bridge, rumbling beneath my feet. I’m not sure, but I think the sound is coming from the lions.
I look up at Mona, concerned.
Mona waves me on. She and our host walk through the lion gate and into a blinding light.
I harrumph, taking time to muster my courage. I straighten my posture and look ahead. I take one step. The growl grows louder. The mechanical lions’ tails snap with the force of a whip. I jolt, momentarily shocked. Metal screeches, and I want to cover my ears, but I’m refraining from too much movement. I inhale a large breath and step again. Their maned heads turn, and their yellow eyes glare. Finally, their mouths open, revealing rusted teeth.
I wince and keep walking, focusing on the bridge’s planks. They’re organically shaped, but only a century of use would have worn them this way. They creak and moan under my weight. Slits between the timbers allow spritzes of freezing water to spatter the hem of my jeans.
When I reach the other side, the lions snarl in unison before returning their attention to the elevator. They take a relaxed stance, lying on their stomachs. Their rusted gears grind to a halt as though the danger has passed.
A pulsing knot forms in my chest. What am I getting myself into?
When I turn back, a brilliant light steals my eyesight. I grab the cool stone wall for support. I blink a few times. Slowly, shapes and colors take their places. As they do, all I can think about is the scene in The Wizard of Oz in which the movie changes from black and white to color. Just as in Dorothy’s world, my whole world has turned to Technicolor.
Somewhere, somehow, the room is infused with cozy sunlight. The cold slate colors of the wintry city above have disappeared. Every surface, living and not, glows with the warmth of a rainbow. I take a deep breath. The refreshing air, unexplainable to me, smells like a smoldering charcoal fire.
Another obelisk stands at the center of the room in an oblong patch of lush green grass. A stone walkway wraps around the base. The brilliant light above makes it impossible to see the top of the pillar. Butterflies, the color of champagne, playfully flutter above.
The fortified underground city resembles a mixture of fussy Victorian and stark nineteenth century industrial components. Nature covers and drips off of every surface. A patchwork quilt of every kind of building material fights to show through. The city looks as though it has existed below the earth for—well, forever.
“Where?” Dumbstruck, the single word is all I can manage.
“I know. Isn’t this place fabulous?” Gabe looks at me but doesn’t wait for an answer. “We’re several stories below the school’s courtyard.” Gabe points to the sky. “The kids call this area Olde Town.”
He continues on.
We follow.
I look back at the ceiling, searching for the top of the obelisk.
“The obelisk continues into the courtyard above. It’s the top third that you see outside.
It’s a symbol of our people,” Mona explains.
“But the light?” I ask, confused, recalling the snow-covered yard above. “Where’s the daylight coming from?”
“It’s all fabricated to resemble sunlight. It’s a weather and atmosphere control machine. At night, we have the stars, just like a planetarium. It’s very lovely,” Mona gushes.
I now realize why I rarely see students outside the east building. With perfect spring days down below, why would you ever come to the wintry surface? Recalling my conversation with Macey and Chris, these students don’t seem so unfortunate after all. On the contrary, they seem quite well taken care of.
My gaze drops from the ceiling. Students move about the miniature town: sitting at a nearby cafe, reading, lying on the grass, exercising. Taking them in, the activities seem normal enough. No more hovering pencils—yet.
Gabe perches next to a nearby statue, obviously preparing to launch into presentation mode. “Come, come.” He waves us closer with beckoning hands, then clears his throat. “As I mentioned, this,” he throws his arms into a V, “is Olde Town. And this old dude here,” he gestures to the life-sized bronze statue, lapsing into seriousness, “is Eli Vanderpool. He was a real estate tycoon in Chicago in the late 1800s, but most importantly, he was a Wanderer. He constructed the first school for our descendants on this piece of land, which became known as Washington Square Academy. By the grace of God, our home and historic relics were spared from the inferno of the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. Soon after the fire, Eli decided to build Olde Town below the school. This beautiful little underground city protects our secrets and priceless relics.”
Gabe steps down quietly. His eyes drop in a silent reverence, and he walks on. I wonder if I should do the same. Do I owe this historic figure as much regard as someone like George Washington?
Gabe can’t rein in his dramatics, and before long, he lithely moves to the center of the courtyard next to the base of the golden obelisk.
“You’ll find most of the classroom entrances in Olde Town. They link off of this large piazza in one way or another.” He points to four enormous tunnels around the space like they’re emergency exits on a plane. “Classrooms have been added on over the decades to accommodate growing needs.”
Mona leans forward. “The town was constructed out of the leftover remnants from the Great Chicago Fire, which consumed over two thousand acres of the city. That’s why the buildings here have, shall we say, a mix and match look. It’s turned out rather charming, I think.” She glances around, clutching her handbag to her stomach.
“Remnants of the fire?” I question.
“Well, Vanderpool, although extremely young by today’s standards, was a fortunate man. He had quite a bit of wealth from his real estate developing ventures before the Chicago fire. When the city was destroyed, he saw the burned city as an opportunity to expand his fortune,” Mona says.
“He was an innovator,” Gabe adds.
“Displaced people were desperate to rebuild as quickly as possible. Vanderpool was only too eager to help. He hauled the rubble away for a small price. Then he salvaged what he could from the burned-out stone and brick and used the pieces to construct Olde Town. He was paid to build his own city,” Mona says.
“Then he rebuilt Chicago. He was wildly wealthy when he died, leaving all his fortune to the Academy.” Mona continues, “At the time of the city’s inception, Olde Town was a working town, a self-sustaining community. Eventually, the school claimed the city, using it for classrooms and a common area for students.”
“It’s awesome,” I say. “And really—warm.” I slip off my coat.
Gabe stands up and points west. “On this side we have the Relic Archives, the Book Archives, and the Costume Archives. At the far end,” he points north, “we have the Defense Arts Gymnasium and the Clock Tower Building. The Clock Tower Building serves as a lecture hall and movie theatre. Behind us sits the Seers’ Meditation Rooms. You’ll see all of those and many more as you begin classes.” He finishes with a flutter of his lashes. “That’s the gist of the building.” He looks at his pocket watch, signaling we’re out of time. “The rest of the building is administrative offices and student accommodations.”
He shoots me an apologetic smile. “I wanted to show you your bedroom, but it isn’t quite finished. But I promise, it’ll be ready tomorrow.”
“My room?” I shoot Mona a look of panic.
“Oh, uh, Gabe—Sera has some reservations and hasn’t quite decided if she’ll be joining you as a boarder. I thought I would give her the weekend to think it over.”
Mona looks to me to respond, but I don’t. I can’t. My concentration breaks at the sight of a pair of curious eyes staring at me, hidden in the shadows of the farthest tunnel.