Brightly (Flicker #2) (10 page)

“None of you are named Brightly, though,” Alice noted.

Henry lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “There aren’t any Brightlys anymore. That name disappeared a couple of generations ago.”

“How?” Lee asked.

“Names change for all sorts of reasons,” he said. “People get married, or they die and don’t leave any descendents with their last name, or they
do
and those descendents scatter to the winds. People change their names. Sometimes families just dwindle down over time. It happens. So there aren’t any Brightlys. There are only Heartstills now—descendents of the same family, with a different name. But the house still carries the old name.”

With that, he turned and started toward the house. Trotting to catch up with the group, Lee remembered Henry’s last name: Heartstill.

“You said you live with your mother,” Nasser said, looking at Henry. They’d climbed the steps onto the porch, and Henry was unlocking the door.

“I said we did, yeah.” He didn’t look up from the lock.

“So she’s not around?”

“No.”

“Will she be back?”

“Not by the time you leave,” Clementine said, as Henry pulled the door open and ushered them all inside.

“Just drop your bags for now,” Henry said. “We’ll sort them out in a bit.”

The living room was large and comfortable-looking, casually cluttered. A couch and several plush chairs were spread across the wooden floor, along with a coffee table piled with books. A little TV sat on a table on the other side of the room, and a small piano was pushed against the far right wall. Above them, a ceiling fan whirred.

Lee was almost startled by how
normal
everything looked. It seemed impossible that these three teenagers—Sighted, like Filo and Nasser and Alice—had such an ordinary-looking living room, or owned a television, of all things.

“So… living arrangements,” Davis said. His voice was overly casual, like he was trying to compensate for the sense of awkwardness that had descended. “If you come upstairs, you can have a look at the rooms. We’ll have to assign roommates, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”

A long blue carpet ran the length of the upstairs hallway. There were doors on either side, with framed photos lining the walls. Lee examined the nearest photo: Davis and Clementine, wide-brimmed hats jammed onto their heads, each holding a fishing pole. They looked about fourteen. Again, Lee was surprised by the sheer normalcy of the scene.

“Bathroom’s the first door on the left,” Davis said, pointing. “There’s one downstairs, too. We’ve got three bedrooms—Clem’s, mine, and the… spare bedroom. Plus the loft.”

“My room is off-limits,” Clementine said bluntly. “I don’t share well, and I also don’t like people pawing through my stuff. No offense.”

“Henry and I will share the loft,” Davis continued lightly, as if determined to ignore Clementine’s comment. He indicated what must’ve been a pull-down ladder above their heads, now just an outline in the ceiling with a dangling string. “Lee and Alice, you’ll probably want the spare room. And two of you can take my room,” he said, looking at the boys. “One of you can sleep downstairs, in the basement, so it’s not three to a room. We’ve got a camp bed down there, and it’s not as cramped as the office. Sound okay?”

It did. Nasser and Jason were used to rooming together, so they agreed to take Davis’ bedroom, while Filo was content with the basement.

Some minutes later, they had gathered up their luggage and started hauling it to their respective rooms. Lee and Alice carried their bags to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall.

It was a spacious, comfortable room: a queen-sized bed, a closet and dresser, a few empty bookshelves, a simple desk and chair. Lee dropped her bags beside the quilt-covered bed while Alice opened the closet, which contained only wire hangers.

Alice pushed the window open, and a breath of salty air rushed inside, stirring the blue curtains. Then she pulled off her shoes and flopped onto the bed beside Lee.

“Nice place,” Lee commented.

“Very nice.” Alice frowned at the white ceiling. “Seems like Nem and Morgan gave them a pretty good setup here—house, community.”

“Think Neman and Morgan treated them like they treated you?” Lee asked quietly.

She knew that the two faeries had frequently beaten their apprentices at Flicker—so frequently that Filo and Alice, who had never known anything else, thought the abuse was normal, even deserved. Nasser, Jason, and Alice had all eventually fled because of it. Only Filo had stayed behind.

“I don’t think so,” Alice said. “You heard how they talked about Nem and Morgan. They didn’t live here, just visited. Everything’s so different here. So…
nice.
” She furrowed her brow. “Is it just me, or does it seem a little
too
nice? A little too—I don’t know—”

“Normal?” Lee supplied.

“Ah.” Alice’s expression turned pensive. “Normal. That’s it.”

Chapter Six:

Lee woke to the sound of singing.

A lone voice floated through the open window, high and clear. It jolted her out of sleep like a grasping hand, sending chills over her skin.

For a moment, Lee couldn’t move. The voice was joined by others, forming an eerie chorus that grew louder and pinned her in place. It sounded like the sea itself was singing, calling to her. Lee thought she could feel her bones vibrating like tuning forks, like they were trying to twist themselves closer to the music. Part of her wanted to get up and follow the sound down to the water, let it wrap itself around her.

The last time she’d heard music like this, she’d been a captive in a faerie revel.

That thought was enough to focus Lee’s mind. She sat up, pushing the blankets back and shaking her head to clear it.

Alice stood by the window, staring out. The curtains billowed softly around her in the cool wind. She gripped the windowsill with one hand, but her other hand was reaching through the open window, her fingers flexing slowly.

Lee moved to the edge of the bed. “Alice?”

The other girl didn’t respond. Frowning, Lee stood and padded across the wooden floor. Alice’s expression was strangely focused, like she was trying to see something beyond Lee’s vision, or like she was waiting for something to appear.

When she touched Alice’s arm, Alice whirled around, her hazel eyes wide and bright. She was breathing hard, as if she’d been startled awake. Lee could see the pulse fluttering at Alice’s throat like a butterfly trapped in a jar.

“What are you doing?” Lee whispered, wrapping her fingers around Alice’s forearm. As their skin touched, Lee’s vision intensified to match Alice’s Sight. The moonlight stung her eyes.

“I… I don’t know,” Alice said slowly. She glanced toward the window again. “You hear it, right? I’m not dreaming?”

“Yes, I hear it.”

“I’ve never heard merfolk song before. It’s so beautiful.”

“I know.” Lee looked toward the clock on the wall. “It’s almost midnight.”

They’d all gone to bed a few hours ago, at the suggestion of the Brightly crew, who suspected it would be a “long night.” Retiring to this room had been a relief after that nearly silent dinner of assorted leftovers, all of them gathered around the long wooden table in the dining room.

Henry and Davis had tried to carry on a conversation, to lessen the strangeness of it all, and Nasser, Jason and Lee tried to be receptive—but it soon became clear that they had little to say to each other. Even the most general questions seemed too personal when coming from someone who was technically blackmailing them. It didn’t help that Filo, Alice and Clementine said nothing at all. Eventually, they’d lapsed into scraping forks and discomfort.

“Alice,” Lee said quietly, unwilling to release Alice’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

She said it with a steady voice that was difficult to disbelieve. Reluctantly, Lee uncurled her fingers from around the other girl’s forearm, and her vision faded back to normal. Then she hauled the window shut.

At night, the island was transformed. Gone were the jewel-like leaves and bright birdsong. Now the forest seemed like a mass of darkness and strange magic, ready to swallow Nasser whole. The trees lining the sloping path to the beach whispered in the cool breeze as Nasser trotted after Davis. The beam of Davis’ flashlight didn’t even dent the shadows, just twitched back and forth as he led Nasser down the other fork in the path.

They’d split from the others back at the house. Nasser and Davis would check on the islanders; the others would see to the merfolk.

Somehow, the singing didn’t seem to grow fainter as they walked. The sound of it made Nasser’s skin crawl in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, like seawater slipping through his veins. It made him want to run straight for the water and hurl himself in. Nasser gritted his teeth and focused on the ground beneath his feet.

When they reached the bottom of the winding trail, Nasser found himself on another stretch of beach. The rushing of the sea sounded like the breathing of a great animal, at odds with the decidedly normal-looking houses that lined the beach, overlooking the water.

“How many people are still on the island?” Nasser asked, as they paced slowly up the beach. The houses were still and silent, with no lights on.

“Twenty, counting Henry, Clementine and me. When people started getting sick, anyone who wasn’t affected got on a boat and left. I know they’re hoping to come back when this is over, but…” Davis shook his head. “Almost everyone still left is sick, except for a few people who wanted to stay with their family members—spouses, mostly.”

“And those people aren’t sick?”

“No. It’s the oddest thing. Some people seem to be able to be around the sickness twenty-four-seven without falling ill themselves. We’re pretty sure it’s not contagious, because it doesn’t spread to everyone, but there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason for how it
does
spread.”

Nasser frowned and shifted his pack on his shoulder. “Which house is first?”

“That would be Richard Austin.” Davis pointed to the second house. “We’ve had a hell of a time with him.”

“How so?”

“Most of the people who’ve fallen sick have been pretty easy to keep in their houses,” Davis explained. “We make sure they lock all their doors before nightfall, before the singing makes them irrational, so they don’t wander down to the water. But Richard never quite comes out of that trance, not even during daylight hours, and he lives alone, so there’s no one else to look after him, unless one of the other islanders is willing to spend time with him. We check on him every day and night, make sure he eats and drinks, but he tends to be more… aggressive than some of the others.”

With each step closer to the house, Nasser felt the tingling in his skin increase—not with the enticing call of the merfolk song, but with something else, something altogether more unsettling. By the time he and Davis were on the porch, his chest and throat felt tight, and he could feel blood pounding at his temples.

Davis unlocked the front door with a pulse of magic, then cracked the door open. He stuck his head inside, glanced around, then stepped into the house. “Come on,” he whispered. “But keep it quiet. We don’t want to scare him.”

Nasser held the door open with one hand; the wood felt strange against his palm, buzzing faintly. Cautiously, he set one foot inside the house, then the other.

The moment he passed over the threshold, it crashed down on him in a wave: energy like dark water, swirling around his legs. It was cold magic, hauled up from the depths of the sea, flooding this house. He could taste it like a mouthful of salt water.

Nasser stumbled, barely catching himself on the back of a nearby chair before he fell. Davis was staring at him, and his mouth was moving, but all Nasser could hear was the roar of water. When he tried to stand, the floor seemed to sway beneath him like the deck of a ship, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut just to convince himself that he was on land.

“Are you okay?” Davis’ voice was distant, like an echo. “Nasser? What’s going on?”

“It’s not—it’s not a disease,” he managed, eyes still shut against the swimming room. Every time he opened his mouth, more dark magic rushed inside.

“What are you talking about?”

With great effort, Nasser blinked his eyes open and started to pull himself upright.
“They’re not sick.”

“How do you—” Davis stopped short when a tall, gaunt man staggered into the living room and bowled into Davis.

He looked to be somewhere in his forties, his brown hair peppered with gray. He wore a T-shirt and sweatpants, and rough stubble covered his jaw. His eyes were bright but unfocused. But that wasn’t what made Nasser freeze.

The man’s face, neck and arms were covered in dark, raised growths of varying sizes. Even from halfway across the room, they resembled barnacles that were growing on this man as if he were the hull of a ship.