Текст книги "The Evolution of Mara Dyer"

Автор книги: Michelle Hodkin

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

22

BEFORE WE LEFT, MY MOTHER MADE DANIEL AND Noah both swear to watch me every second and made me take my father’s cell phone too, for good measure. She would have fitted me with an ankle monitor if she could have, but I didn’t care—I was just glad to go.

We picked up Sophie on the way to the restaurant; she practically bounced into the car and kissed Daniel on the cheek. He totally blushed. She totally beamed. They were adorable together, I had to admit it.

The perfect pair talked about some concert some famous violinist was giving at the Center for Performing Arts next week, and I leaned my cheek against the cool window of Daniel’s Civic.

The drenched roads rushed by us. Street lamps cast yellow cones of light on the houses below them, which went from expensive in Sophie’s neighborhood to run-down as we neared the restaurant. At a red light, I noticed a cat watching us from the roof of someone’s parked car. When it saw me, it pulled its gums back in a hiss.

Maybe I imagined it.

The restaurant was lit with white Christmas lights outside, and the smell of frying dough invaded the damp air.

“Whatever that smell is,” Sophie said as we went inside, “that’s what I’m having.”

“Churros,” Noah said. “It’s a dessert.”

Sophie tucked her short blond hair behind her ears. “I don’t care. That smell is crazy.”

“So’s the line,” Daniel said, eyeing the assembled crowd. Dozens of people were standing, laughing, talking—all waiting for a seat.

“It’s always busy,” I said.

“You’ve been here?” Sophie asked.

“Twice.” Once on my birthday. And then the first time—the first time Noah and I went out. I smiled at the memory, just as Noah said, “I’ll be right back.”

The crowd pressed us against the bar. “Oh my God,” Sophie squealed, looking at a display of the restaurant’s green and white promotional T-shirts behind the counter. “Those are so cute.”

“You want one?” Daniel asked her.

“Would it be cheesy if I said yes?”

“Yes,” my brother said, but he was smiling.

She wrinkled her nose. “I love cheese.”

So did I, in small doses.

I discreetly inched away from them and toward the glass dessert case. I didn’t care about the food; my eyes roamed over the wall next to it, over to the fliers tacked on a giant bulletin board. That was how I first found Abel Lukumi. Maybe I’d get lucky again.

I scanned hundreds of words as quickly as I could when Daniel appeared back at my side. “Table’s ready,” he said. “Come on.”

“Give me a second.” My brother sighed and went off to sit with Sophie. But as promised, he didn’t leave me alone.

“Find anything?” Noah’s voice was velvet and warm next to my ear. I shook my head, but then four letters caught my eye.

kumi.

They peeked out from under the corner of another flier. I folded the top one over, feeling a rush of hope—

The full word was Lukumi, but as I squinted to try and read the small type, I realized I was having trouble understanding the sentence. Either the context was off, or my Spanish was already fading from disuse.

“It’s a church,” Noah said, reading the text along with me. “Church of Lukumi.”

I bit my lip. “Well, he’s a priest . . . maybe it’s his church?”

Noah withdrew his iPhone and typed something in. “Of course,” he said, sounding resigned.

“What?”

He showed me the screen. There were hundreds of thousands of hits—mostly referring to the Church of Lukumi and a Supreme Court case bearing its name.

“It’s another name for Santeria,” he said, and met my eyes. “For the religion. Whatever that man’s name was, it wasn’t Abel Lukumi.”

He had used a fake name.

I tried not to let my disappointment show as I ate, but it was hard. Sophie didn’t appear to notice, though, and Daniel pretended not to. When we finished dinner, we left the building loaded with Styrofoam boxes full of plantains and beans to spare.

“That was incredible,” Sophie said, her voice dreamy. “I can’t believe I’ve lived twenty minutes away and never knew about it.”

“Good choice,” Daniel agreed, chucking Noah on the shoulder. We all climbed back into the car, and Sophie put her iPod into the dock and played some tense, obscure piece she wanted Daniel and Noah to hear. But just as the music swelled to a crescendo, something small hit our windshield and slid down.

Sophie screamed. Daniel screeched to a stop.

The wheels skidded slightly on the wet pavement, and we found ourselves under a pool of light. The streetlamp illuminated a bloody smear on the glass and the windshield wipers swooped, spreading the stain.

We hadn’t even turned off of Calle Ocho, but it was late and rainy and there was no one behind us, so my brother got out of the car. Noah followed right behind him.

The car was silent but my heartbeat roared in my ears. They were outside for less than a minute before the car doors creaked open again.

“It was a bird,” Noah said, slipping into the backseat beside me. He laced his fingers between mine, and I began to calm down.

“A crow,” my brother clarified. He sounded drained and guilty.

Sophie reached over and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

My brother just sat there, idling in the lane. He shook his head. “I’ve never hit anything in my whole—”

His sentence was cut off by another soft thump, this time on the roof.

This time, the car wasn’t moving.

“What the—” Daniel started.

But before he could finish his sentence, the thump was followed by dozens more. And not just on our car but also on the road, on the parked cars that lined the street.

We were shocked into silence as a murder of crows fell from the sky.

23

AFTER WE DROPPED SOPHIE OFF, DANIEL AND Noah exchanged theories on the way home. The storm. Disease. There were a bunch of scientific possibilities, but a feeling gnawed at me.

A feeling that it was something else.

Seconds seemed like lifetimes as I waited for Noah to come to my room that night. I stared at the clock on my nightstand, but the hours passed and he didn’t show. He didn’t tell me he would, but I assumed it.

Maybe I assumed wrong.

Maybe he fell asleep?

I threw off the blanket and slipped out of my room. The guest room was on the other side of the house, but I was confident I could silently make my way over and see if he was still awake. Just to check.

I stood outside the guest room door and listened. No sound. I pushed it open a crack.

“Yes?” Noah’s voice. Wide-awake.

I opened the door the rest of the way. A small lamp was on a circular accent table in the corner of the room, but Noah was painted in shadow. He was still dressed and he was reading, his face entirely obscured by a book. He lowered it just enough to reveal his eyes.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” I said again.

Noah lowered his book farther. “Is everything all right?”

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. “I just came to say good night.”

“Good night,” he said, and returned to the book.

I had no idea what was going on, but I didn’t like it. I half-twisted toward the door, then stopped. Glanced back at Noah.

He arched an eyebrow. “What?”

I’m just going to say it. “I’m just going to say it.”

He waited.

“I thought you were coming to my room.”

“Why?”

Well, that stung. I reached for the door.

Noah sighed. “I can’t, Mara.”

“Why not?”

Noah set down the book he was reading and crossed the room. He stopped next to me but stared out the window. I followed his eyes.

I could see the ridiculously long hallway that led to my bedroom from here, and the three sets of French doors that spanned its length. The hall light was on, which made it nearly impossible to see anything outside. But if someone went inside, Noah wouldn’t miss it.

Was that why he didn’t come? “You can keep an eye out on my room from my bed too, you know,” I said.

Noah lifted his hand to my cheek; I wasn’t expecting it and my breath hitched. He then ran his thumb over my skin and under my jaw, tilting my face up, drawing my eyes to his.

“Your mother trusts me,” he said quietly.

A mischievous grin curved my mouth. “Exactly.”

“No, Mara, she trusts me. If I’m caught in your bed, I won’t be allowed to be here. Not like this. And I have to be here.”

I tensed, remembering words I said to him not even a week ago, before I knew that Jude was alive. Back when I was only afraid of myself.

“I want a boyfriend, not a babysitter.”

The circumstances had changed, but the sentiment hadn’t. “You don’t have to be here,” I said. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to be here.”

“Why?”

“I can’t let anything happen to you.”

I closed my eyes in frustration. Either Noah didn’t understand what I was trying to say, or he was ignoring it. “Should I go?” I asked.

His hand was still on my face, and his touch was impossibly soft. “You should.”

I wasn’t about to beg. I broke away from him and reached for the door.

“But don’t,” he said, right when I touched it.

I faced him and stepped back into the room. He pushed the door closed behind me. My back was against the wood and Noah was almost against me.

I went in search of Noah with every intention of just sleeping when I found him. But now the beat of my blood, of my wanting, transformed the air around us.

I was consumed by the slow lift of the corner of his mouth and the need to taste his smile. I wanted to dip my fingers under the hem of his shirt and explore the soft line of hair that disappeared into his jeans. To feel his skin under my teeth, his shadowed jaw on my neck.

But here, now, with him only inches from me, and nothing to stop us, I didn’t move.

“I want to kiss you,” I whispered instead.

He angled his face closer, lower down to mine. But not to my mouth. To my ear. “I’ll allow it.”

His lips brushed my skin and suddenly it was too much. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him against me as close as I could but he was still not close enough. My hands were trapped between the hard ridges of his stomach and my softness and I was almost breathless with wanting, trembling with it.

But Noah was still.

Until his name fell from my lips in a soft, desperate groan. And then his hands were on my hips and his mouth was on my skin and he lifted me and I wrapped myself around him. I was backed against the door and the copper buttons on Noah’s jeans pressed against me and the ache was delicious and not enough, not at all. His rough cheek electrified the curve between my neck and shoulder and I leaned back, completely senseless. He gripped my waist and he shifted me up and then his lips brushed against mine. Soft. Tentative. Waiting for me to kiss them.

A memory flickered of us together in his bed, a tangle of limbs and tongues and hair. Noah wrapped around me as he unwrapped me with his mouth. Our mouths were fluent in the language of each other and we moved with one mind and shared the same breath. Until Noah stopped breathing. Until he almost died.

Like Jude should have.

Like I wished he had.

I shuddered against Noah’s mouth and my heart thundered against his chest. I did not imagine him almost dying. I remembered it. And I was afraid it would happen again.

Noah slid me down.

I was breathless and unsteady on my feet. “What?”

“You’re not ready,” he said as he backed away.

I swallowed. “I was thinking about it. But then you just—stopped.”

“Your heartbeat was out of control.”

“Maybe because I liked it.”

“Maybe because you’re not ready,” Noah said. “And I’m not going to push you.”

After a minute passed in silence, I finally said, “I’m scared.”

Noah was quiet.

“I’m scared to kiss you.” I’m scared I’ll hurt you.

Noah gently smoothed my hair from my face. “Then you don’t have to.”

“But I want to.” It had never been more true.

His eyes were soft. “Do you want to tell me what you’re afraid of?”

My voice was clear. “That I’ll hurt you. Kill you.”

“If you kiss me.”

“Yes.”

“Because of that dream.”

I closed my eyes. “It wasn’t a dream,” I said.

I felt Noah’s fingers on my waist. “If it wasn’t a dream, then what do you think happened?”

“I told you already.”

“How would that work?”

I studied his face, searching for any trace of amusement. I didn’t find it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s part of . . . me,” I said, and I knew that he knew what I meant.

“Just kissing?”

I shrugged.

“Not sex?”

“I’ve never had sex.”

“I’m aware. But if I recall correctly, you didn’t seem to be worried about it that night in my room.” The tiniest hint of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

I knew exactly which night he meant. It was the night he finally realized what I could do, when I killed every living thing in the insect house at the zoo, everything but us.

I thought I should leave him then, to keep him safe. I thought I should leave everyone I loved. But Noah wouldn’t let me and I was grateful because I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted him close, as close as he could possibly get. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t thinking much at all.

“I don’t know,” I said, backing down onto the bed. “How am I supposed to know?”

Noah followed my steps and unfurled on the mattress, drawing me down with him. My spine was pressed up against his chest; the silver pendant he always wore was cold against my skin, exposed in my tank top. The beat of his heart steadied mine.

Noah traced the length of my arm and held my hand. “We don’t have to do anything, Mara,” he said softly as my eyes began to close. I wanted to curl up in his voice and live there. “This truly is enough.”

I had one final thought before I slipped into sleep.

Not for me.

24

BEFORE

India. Unknown Province.

THE MAN IN BLUE LOOKED DOWN AT ME AS THE horses drew the carriage away, kicking up dust. “What is your name?”

I stared at him.

“Do you understand me?”

I nodded.

“I do not know what your guardian has told you, but you are in my care for now. We will have to give you a name.”

I was silent.

He let out a small sigh. “We have a journey ahead of us. Are you feeling well?”

I nodded again, and our journey began.

I was sad to leave the ships. We traveled by foot and by elephant back into the forest and still it was nearly sunset when we reached the village. The earth beneath my feet was dry and the air was quiet and still. I smelled smoke; there were many small huts that stretched out over the land, but there were no people.

“Come inside,” the Man in Blue said, and waved me into one of the huts. My eyes wrestled with the dark.

Something moved near me; a figure emerged out of the dimness. I could see only smooth, brown, flawless skin attached to a slight slip of a girl. She was taller than I, but I could not see her face. Ribbons of black hair fell limply below her shoulders.

“Daughter,” the Man in Blue said to the girl. “We have a guest.”

The girl stepped into the light, and I could finally see her. She was plain, but there was a kindness, a warmth in her clean face that made her pretty. She smiled at me.

I smiled back.

The Man in Blue rested his hand on the girl’s shoulder then. “Where is Mother?”

“A woman went into labor.”

The Man in Blue looked confused. “Who?”

The girl shook her head. “Not from here. A stranger, the husband, came for Mother. She said she would return as soon as she was able.”

The Man in Blue’s eyes tightened. “I must speak with you,” he said to her. Then he turned to me. “Wait here. Do not go outside. Do you understand?”

I nodded. He drew the girl away, out of the hut. I heard whispers but I could not understand the words. Moments later, the girl entered again. Alone.

She did not speak to me. Not at first. She took a step toward me, then turned up her palms. I did not move. She took another step, close enough now for me to catch her scent, earthy and intense. I liked it and I liked her warmth. She extended her arm then, and I let her touch me. She crouched in a corner and sat me down next to her. The girl drew me against her clean shift with the familiarity of someone who knew just the way I would fit. I wriggled, trying to get comfortable.

“You must not go out there,” she said, misunderstanding my movement.

I stilled. “Why?”

“So you can speak,” the girl said with a tiny smile. “It is not safe,” she added.

“It is too quiet.”

“People are sick. The noise hurts them.”

I did not understand. “Why?”

“Haven’t you ever been sick?”

I shook my head.

She smiled and shot me a sly look. “Everyone gets sick. You are full of mischief.”

I did not understand her meaning, so I asked, “The Man in Blue, he is your father?”

“The Man in Blue?” she asked, her eyes glittering. “That is what you call him?”

I said nothing.

The girl nodded. “Yes, he is. But you may call him Uncle and my mother Aunt, when she returns.” She paused. “And you may call me Sister, if you like.”

“Did my father and mother get sick?” I asked, even though I did not remember my father or mother. I did not remember having either.

“Perhaps,” the girl said quietly, and pulled me back against her. “But you are with us now.”

“Why?”

“Because we will take care of you.”

Her voice was gentle and soft, and suddenly I was frightened for her. “Are you sick?”

“Not yet,” she said, then stood.

I followed quickly. She was not like the others. I wanted her to stay.

She glanced back. “I was not leaving,” she assured me.

“I know,” I said, but followed her anyway.

We did not go far. We simply turned into another small room, this one with several mats on the caked straw floor. The girl ducked down behind one and held a bundle of fabric in her hand, as well as a needle and thread. She removed a jar full of something dark and withdrew a puff of it in her fist. She folded the cloth around the fluff and hummed a simple song—it consisted of only a few notes—as she began to sew.

I was hypnotized by her hands. “What is that?”

“A present. Something for you to play with, so you will never feel alone.”

I felt something like fear. “I want to play with you.”

She smiled, warm and bright. “We can all play together.”

This made me happy and I settled down on the mat, lulled by the melody and the rhythm of her fingers. Soon, the shapeless form in her hands became something else; I found a head early on, then two arms and legs. It grew eyes and eyelashes and a thin black smile, then rows of stitches of black hair. Then the older girl made a shift for it, and slipped it on over its stuffed head.

When she finished, I settled back into the crook of her arm.

“Do you like your doll?” She held it up to a shaft of light. There was a spot of red on the underside of its arm, where she held it. Where its wrist would have been.

I did not answer her. “What is that red?” I asked instead.

“Oh.” She handed me the doll and examined her finger. “I pricked myself.” She drew her finger to her mouth and sucked.

I was afraid for her. “Are you hurt?”

“No, do not worry.”

I held the doll close.

“What is her name?” the girl asked me gently.

I was silent for a moment. Then said, “You made it. You choose.”

“Her,” she corrected me. “I cannot choose that for you.”

“Why?”

“Because she belongs to you. There is power in a name. Perhaps once you know her better, you will be able to decide?”

I nodded, and the older girl stood, lifting me with her. My stomach made a noise.

“You are hungry.”

I nodded.

She caressed the crown of my head, smoothing my thick, dark hair. “We are all hungry,” she said quietly. “I can add more water to the soup. Would you like some before supper?”

“Yes.”

She nodded and considered me. “Are you strong enough to fetch water from a well?”

“I am very strong.”

“The handle is very heavy.”

“Not for me.”

“It is a very deep well. . . .”

“I can do it.” I wanted to show her, but I wanted to be outside as well. The close air of the hut was pressing in, and my skin felt tight.

“Then I will tell you the secret to get there, but you must promise not to go any farther into the trees.”

“I promise.”

“And if you see someone, you must promise not to tell them where it is.”

“I promise.”

The girl smiled, and nudged the doll back into my hand. “Take her with you, wherever you go.”

I clutched the doll tightly and brought her to my chest before the girl showed me out. Her eyes followed me as I ran into the fading sunlight. The scent of charred flesh singed my nostrils, but the smell was not unpleasant. A thick haze of smoke hung in the air and stung my eyes even as it rose among the trees.

I followed the path I was told. The well was quite far, and nearly hidden by thick brush. It was large, too; I had to stand on my toes to peer down into it. It was dark. Bottomless. I had an urge to throw the doll in.

I did not. I set it down beside the worn stone and my thin arms began the work of drawing up the water when I heard a cough.

Close.

I was so startled I dropped the handle. I picked up the doll and gripped it tightly as I crept to the other side of the well.

An old woman sat propped up against the trunk of a date palm, her wrinkles deep, folding in on themselves. Her black eyes were unfocused and watery. She was weak.

And not alone.

Someone was crouched over her, a man with waves of black hair and perfect, beautiful skin. He held a cup to the old woman’s lips and water dribbled down her chin. She coughed again, startling me.

His obsidian eyes flicked to mine, and something flashed behind them. Something I did not know or understand.

The woman followed his gaze and focused on me. Her stare pinned me to the ground as her eyes widened, the whites showing around her irises. The man placed a calming hand on her shoulder, then stared back at me.

I felt a roll of sickness deep in my belly and doubled over. Red swirled at the edges of my vision. My head swam. I gulped for air and slowly, slowly rose.

The woman began to tremble and whisper. The man—surprised, curious, but not afraid—leaned his head in to hear her. Without realizing it, I took a step nearer too.

She whispered louder and louder. It was the same word, just one word, that she repeated over and over again. Her frail arm rose, her finger pointed at me like an accusation.

“Mara,” she whispered, again and again and again. And then she began to scream.