Infinityglass

Chapter 8

Dune

When I got ready to leave for work that afternoon, Poe had his computer and a ton of index cards out, already searching through the information I’d given him.

He wore a huge pair of wayfarer glasses, and was so Anthony Head, circa Buffy the Vampire Slayer, that it was all I could do not to call him Giles.

“Anything you want me to look for besides the possession connection?”

“Possession connection. That sounds like a really screwed-up PBS kids’ show.” I grabbed my own computer. “Just that I’m still looking for the thing that kicked Hallie into overdrive. Whatever the genetic stressor was. Maybe keep an eye out for that, too.”

He nodded and dropped his eyes to focus on his computer. “Will do.”

I took the trolley down Saint Charles, even though the walk would’ve helped clear my head. Hallie had said she wanted me to come back today, but if she’d changed her mind, told her father that I’d blown my cover … I’d be screwed. Possibly dead. I had a brief vision of Paul Girard and his gun holster.

I jumped off at my trolley stop and approached the side entrance to the Girard house slowly. No attempts were made on my life, so I checked in with Carl, the head of security, made my way to Hallie’s room, and knocked on her door. It flew open.

“You. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” I scanned the hallway to the right and left of her bedroom door. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No. I just …”

“You thought I wouldn’t come back.”

“It crossed my mind. I wondered if what happened last night freaked you out enough to make you cut and run. If the nice-guy stuff was for real.”

“It is, just like my fear that your dad would be waiting for me at the front door.” I grinned. “Did you reach a verdict on my nice-guy status?”

“Still out.” She tilted her head and paused. “Hung jury.”

I nodded. “If the jury reaches a decision, I’ll be out here. Doing something bodyguardlike.”

The left corner of her mouth tipped up a fraction of an inch. “But you aren’t a fake bodyguard anymore.”

“I am to your dad.”

She grinned.

“You told him? And I’m still breathing?”

“I can be very persuasive.”

I had no doubt about that. “Okay. I guess I’ll just … stand here until you make a decision.”

“I was thinking.” She opened her door wider. “Maybe we need to spend some quality time together.”

I started backing up. “I’m not coming in your room. No need to give your dad more reasons to come after me with a shotgun, even if we are just talking about science.”

“He leans more toward the smaller firearms. Besides, I have an idea.”

“Which is?” I asked cautiously.

“If we’re going to get to know each other—well, what each of us knows about this situation, anyway—how about we play a game of either-or?”

It seemed innocent, but I knew Hallie had a penchant for being tricky, and I liked being alive. “What are the terms of this particular game? Are we talking personal or professional questions?”

“Both.” She gave me the once-over. “I’d like to know who I’m getting in bed with. So to speak.”

God, the girl was wicked. I was probably in trouble. “Fine. Books or movies?”

She raised one eyebrow, surprised that I was willing to dive right in. “Movies.”

“Downloads or CDs?”

“Records,” she answered in a drawn-out voice, like I was an imbecile.

I continued. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

“Strawberry.” She turned it around. “What about you?”

“Butter pecan.”

“Boxers or briefs?” This came with a grin.

“Neither.”

I watched as her eyes wandered in the direction of my waistband. When she knew she’d been busted, her cheeks got a little pink.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Beach or mountains?”

I blanched. She caught it.

“You have an immediate comeback for your underwear choice, but beach or mountains stumps you.” She tapped her lips with one finger and studied me. “Why is it a hard question?”

“Mountains.”

“No.” She leaned against her door frame. “I asked you why that’s hard to answer.”

“I don’t think you know how to play either-or. There aren’t supposed to be explanations, just one-word answers.”

“My house,” she said. “My rules. Tell me why you’re avoiding.”

I straightened my shoulders. “It has to do with my special brand of magical powers.”

“Which are?” When I didn’t respond, she said, “You don’t have to tell me, Dune. But I’d like to know.”

I sensed we’d reached the tipping point of our tentative alliance.

I answered because she gave me the opportunity not to, and because her authenticity peeked out from behind her curiosity. “Tides. I can control the tides. Water in its many forms. We think that I can affect moon phases as well, but it’s not the kind of thing you can test.”

“That’s … wow. That’s pretty serious.”

“It’s okay on a small scale, because I understand how to control it, even though I rarely let other people see me do it. Tiny things like plumbing leaks or condensation, not a problem at all. Ponds, contained bodies of water that I can see end to end—wide open and easy to handle, as long as they’re people free. Streams, creeks—those are doable, but aren’t ideal. Lakes and rivers. Possible, but also possibly catastrophic. I avoid them altogether. And oceans … well. I haven’t been to the ocean since I was eleven.”

“Why? Same offer stands. You don’t have to tell me.”

Growing up in American Samoa had its advantages. For me, it was the Pacific Ocean. I used to race over the dunes to get to the water when I was a kid—hence my nickname. The moon’s gravitational force drew the tide, and the tide drew me, pulling me to the ocean over and over again.

When I was eleven, I pulled back.

“I was at the beach, on a picnic with my family. Understand, in Samoa, everyone is family. That’s just the way villages work.

Warm sun, cool breeze, good food. We laughed a lot. Anytime we were all together, there was music.”

Such a simple thing, my hands in the water. The rush that ran through my extremities, the way my pulse tuned itself to the crashing of the waves. The water became an extension of my fingers; when I waved them to the left, the fish swam that direction. When I moved them to the right, they followed.

“I’d been able to manipulate the current ever since I was little. I always wanted to see fish up close. Not the tiny minnows that were always by the shoreline, but the big kind fishermen would bring back from excursions and hold up to have their pictures taken.” I knew most of those were eventually stuffed, and probably left to gather dust while hanging on a wall somewhere in Middle America. “I didn’t want to turn the fish into trophies. I just wanted to see them.”

Hallie crossed her arms over her chest. “Any kid with an ability like that would.”

“So, that day, I concentrated a little harder than usual, curling my fingers in toward my body.

“The waves came at me in a rush, so big, filling my mouth, eyes, nose, throat. I remember the way the salt burned. I couldn’t breathe. Everything went black. When I woke up, my mom was on her knees in the sand, holding me. A trail of dead marine life stretched as far as I could see. Fish, with their scales drying up. Bloated jellyfish. A couple of dolphins, a shark. Giants, just … abandoned on the sand.”

Hallie covered her mouth with her hands.

“There were also people. Lifeless bodies, covered with beach towels. I’d created a tidal wave. Even the strongest swimmers hadn’t been able to fight it. Eleven members of my extended family died that day, one to represent each year of my life.” I took a deep breath. Then another. “One of them was my father.”

She stepped out of her room and took my arm. “Sit.”

We sat down with our backs against the wall, shoulders almost touching.

“I haven’t told anyone that story since I first came to the Hourglass.” Liam first, and eventually, Nate. That had been over five years ago. I hadn’t given either one of them details, and I wasn’t sure why I had given them to Hallie now. “I know it was an accident, but sometimes the guilt can sneak up on me. My dad was a great guy. It was a rough loss for everyone.”

“Tell me about him.” She slid her legs out and crossed them at the ankles.

“He worked at Mauna Kea, at one of the big observatories. He was gone a lot. Fascinated by space and its relation to time. He knew about my ability, but never talked to me about it.”

Instead, he wound the truth into fairy tales, as parents do when they believe reality is too frightening or too hard to comprehend. When we’d buried him, I knew the fairy tales he’d spent his life chasing were true. And over.

“My mom brought me mainland, and then I met Liam. Samoans have a word, fa’a Samoa. It means the ‘Samoan way.’

Families extend beyond blood. I have that with the Hourglass.”

Hallie took my hand in hers, and held it without saying a word. The line between business and friendship blurred. The neck of my T-shirt felt too tight.

“So that’s why I’d choose the mountains.” I cleared my throat. “Because I don’t think I can ever go back to the ocean.”

Hallie

Controlling tides. Moon phases. The loss of so many people who were important to him. He’d bared his soul, and the way his big shoulders curled over his chest made my heart hurt. I had to take his hand.

And I had to tell him my secret.

“It’s nothing like losing a parent, but my best friend died a few years ago.” The words came out before I could think about them, but they felt right instead of impulsive. “I don’t usually talk about that, either.”

He waited, holding my hand, and keeping those sweet eyes focused on my face.

“His dad was a bodyguard for us. I was still in public school at that point, but Dad had started to rein in nonschool activities. He had a new sense of paranoia that started spilling over into my life. His name was Benny. We’d been arguing, about something stupid like jelly bean flavors, or manga versus anime.”

“That’s what friends do,” Dune said.

Fifteen and sneaky, thinking we could hide in the crowd lining Jackson Square, pretending my father’s reputation didn’t walk in front of me, or that his square jaw didn’t hang all ridiculous on my baby-fat face. Pretending I wasn’t a shiny red target with a wide-open bull’s-eye.

The spires of Saint Louis Cathedral had stretched up toward the clouds like those on Cinderella’s castle. No magic below, though, just busy crowds. Tourists held chicory coffee from Café du Monde in to-go cups; heat met crisp winter air and formed steam. At least there’d been no heat to exacerbate the leftover smells from a Saturday night in the Quarter. I’d tugged at the ends of my much-regretted pixie cut that were sticking out from underneath my skull cap. It had only made my ruler-straight body look more androgynous. Delayed puberty, my nemesis.

“Benny and I met when he came to work with his dad one day. I told him his belly looked like Santa’s, he told me my lips were too big for my head, and I kicked him. We wrestled each other to the ground before the fight was broken up, but my father had seen me laugh. And Benny got to come back. Immediate besties.”

Except for right before the accident, when he’d started doing things like offering up his jacket, letting me go first, opening doors. I thought maybe he was trying to make the move from five years of comfortable friendship into something unknown and scary.

“The shots were so loud. I thought they were fireworks at first. I didn’t understand why anyone would be setting fireworks off in the middle of the day. But it was gunfire.”

Bullets had peppered the wrought iron and the sidewalk, scattered the crowd like jacks. Screams would serve as background noise for every waking moment of my next two years. Benny’s blood would be the backdrop. His blue eyes were open and empty as I lay beside his wasted body, splattered by his blood. It was in that second, before reality and grief rolled in, I decided I’d spend the rest of my life living enough for both of us.

I met Dune’s eyes. “He died right there on Jackson Square.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Took a hit on my shoulder. I didn’t know a bodyguard was tailing us, but he tackled me to get me to the ground, and broke my left leg in three places.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Fifteen.” I shrugged. “That’s when I decided life was short—at least I’m pretty sure mine will be—and that there’s no point in living if you don’t go balls to the wall with it. Hard to do when you’re protected the way I am, but it doesn’t mean I’ll stop. I turn eighteen soon.”

“Will you leave home?” He understood. I could hear it.

“I want to go to school at Tulane, for dance. I understand why Dad wants me here, protected all the time. It was hard on everyone when we lost Benny. If he could just give me a little more lead on my leash … but he won’t.” I met his eyes. “I haven’t decided what to do yet. If one day I’ll change my appearance and run, or if I’ll stay. But honestly, I can’t see the latter as an option.”

“I don’t think anyone would blame you.”

“No running today.” I faced him, trying to lighten things up. If I kept talking, I’d turn my hallway into a confessional and Dune into my priest. “We still have a game to play.”

“Agreed. But I’ll only answer if you promise to keep undergarment preferences out of it.”

He knew exactly how raw I felt, and how telling him so much so fast had surprised me. Instead of taking advantage of it, he helped me steer my emotions back to safe waters.

“Bikinis,” I said, smiling. “Just so you know.”