Elemental (16 page)

CHAPTER 30

G
riffin closed the journals. He was the keeper of something inexplicable but undoubtedly precious, and from the way he held the books, I could tell he knew it.

Show. More,
I signed.

He shook his head.
Not. Everything.
He watched my blank expression and used a sign I hadn't seen in months:
Incomplete.

“What's he saying?” asked Alice.

“He says it's incomplete. There must still be pages missing.” I turned to Griffin.
Where. Pages?

Griffin pointed east, toward Hatteras.
Dune. Box,
he explained.
Rose.

“The remaining pages must have been inside Kyte's dune box,” I told Alice. “But why would they split the book up in the first place?”

“In case we ever found one of the dune boxes. Which means they really didn't want us knowing this.” Alice used her sleeve to wipe away the blood streaming from her leg. “The Guardians sure do like their secrets, don't they?”

Griffin continued to stare into the distance. I guessed that he was thinking about the final dune box. Was it still there, lying on the beach? Had someone picked it up? Would it be washed away in the coming hurricane?

Would the story he held so gently in his hands ever be complete again?

That's when I realized something else too: Griffin was embracing this new version of our past. More than that, he was determined to piece it together, step by painstaking step.

I pulled the mysterious picture from my pocket and handed it to him. His eyes grew wide as he placed a finger beside our father's head. Then he pointed to the woman with the cat wrapped around her feet.

Our. Grandmother,
I explained.

Again, he seemed surprised rather than shocked. His eyes moved to the other woman—our mother. She was taller than the older woman, but the family resemblance was striking.

I wished I'd shown him the portrait of our mother that I'd found. Now it would seem like I'd been keeping things from him too.

Something else caught my eye then—something I hadn't noticed before. There was a door behind my father, and beside it, a small rectangular object. From the look of it, it was metal. And though I couldn't read the word that was written on it, I was fairly certain I already knew.

Come,
I signed.

“Where are you going?” asked Alice.

“To find our grandmother.”

“Where?”

I held up the picture. “In the clinic.”

 * * *

The broken glass in the clinic door sparkled as the sun momentarily appeared behind us. Through it, I could see the imprint of my footsteps from previous visits.

I signaled to the others to follow me, and we headed inside. “This is where Lora sent me the night she died.”

Alice wore a quizzical expression. “What did she want here?”

“A container. She called it ‘aspirin.'”

“What's that?”

“I don't know. I never found it. She gave me precise directions, though.” I walked over to the shelves on the right. “It should've been right here on the second shelf.”

“Well, it's not. And that's hardly your fault.”

I nodded absently, but I was still looking at the shelf. It was covered in a thick layer of dust—several years' worth, probably—except for one circle toward the middle. Something had been sitting there until very recently. But who would have taken the container? Who even knew I was looking for it?

A seer perhaps? Someone who was happy to see Lora die?

I tried to cast the thought aside. Toward the back of the clinic, Alice was searching inside every cupboard, under every table. Griffin was running his hands along the interior walls, his face a picture of concentration.

“This is where I found the lantern,” I said. “Right there on that table.”

“Do you think the seer wanted you to find something?”

I glanced around. “It's possible. But I don't see anything obvious, do you?”

This part of the clinic was mostly bare: bright white walls and filthy white floor. A single beam of sunlight filtered in, illuminating the particles of dust that spun in eddies around the room. Chairs were toppled over. A rickety ladder rested uneasily against a wall of shelves.

Griffin clapped once, a sound that stopped us in our tracks. Once he had silence he pressed both palms against the wall and closed his eyes. It was the same preparation he had when he was about to use his element. But why now? Unless . . . was he trying to feel vibrations, a sign that we weren't alone?

He pursed his lips and huffed. When he turned to us and shook his head, I had my answer. On Roanoke his element was more sensitive than a Guardian's, it seemed. Was there no end to the island's mysteries?

“I'm going outside,” said Alice. “See what's on the roof.”

I followed her. There was no point in searching inside anymore. There were no more cupboards to check, and nowhere else to hide. I was certain that the seer had been in the clinic at some point, but equally sure she wasn't there now.

Outside, Alice had kicked off her shoes. She ran her hands across the sheer stone wall, and dug her fingertips into gaps so tiny that I could barely make them out. Then, somehow, she began to climb.

“How are you doing that?”

She stared down at me. “My senses,” she answered quietly. “I can tell by touch if something will support my weight. And if I'm strong enough to climb.”

As she said it, I felt a pang of jealousy. With every new talent she revealed, Alice went from having one weak element to being perhaps the most extraordinary of all of us.

“Can I help?”

“Yes. Keep Griffin away. If he sees me doing this, he'll have all sorts of questions.”

She continued to climb, fingertips uncovering tiny indentations, a single toe pressed into a crack too small for me to see. When she reached the roof, she pulled herself onto it.

“Be careful,” I said. “You're pretty high up.”

“Hardly.”

I peered through the broken glass. Griffin was still inside, running his palms along the wall; but higher up now, hands above his head. He was almost touching the ceiling.

I looked back at Alice, at least five yards off the ground.

Just like that, everything fell into place. “She's not on the roof,” I shouted. “I know where she is.”

I ran to the back of the clinic, placed my foot on the first rung of the ladder, and climbed to the ceiling. I prodded around for signs of movement. One of the ceiling tiles lifted. I eased it to the side and stood up straight so I could see what was in the space between the ceiling and the roof.

It was dark, but I could still make out two yellow eyes. The animal hissed at me.

Then I detected another figure.

“You shouldn't have come looking,” she said.

CHAPTER 31

T
he sound of her voice—deep and rich—shocked me. All I could think was that this was my grandmother. A woman who'd died when I was still an infant was not dead at all, but alive, and here in Skeleton Town.

“Cat got your tongue?” She shuffled forward and stroked the creature beside her. It purred gratefully in reply. “Never mind,” she said, watching my confused expression. “It was a saying we used to have. In the old days.”

As my eyes adjusted to the dark I took in the cramped space. Two cloth bags sat in a heap behind her. Even in the low light I could see that she was filthy.

“I thought it was your brother who didn't talk, not you.”

“His name's Griffin. Anyway, how do you know that?”

“So he does speak!” She laughed without opening her mouth. “I've stayed hidden for thirteen years, and you're surprised I know about your brother?”

“Why are you hiding from us? Why did everyone tell me you were dead?”

She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled slowly. “Those are good questions. But if we're going to talk, I'd prefer not to stay cramped up here.”

“I wasn't the one who made you hide out.”

“No, you weren't. But neither was I, Thomas.”

Hearing her say my name made me pause. Everything we'd taken for granted had gone; the things we knew had gone were inexplicably returning. The world had turned upside down, and somehow this woman—my grandmother—might know why. Suddenly her bedraggled appearance and overpowering odor filled me with sadness. How had she survived all these years?

I climbed down the ladder. Alice and Griffin were waiting, but they neither spoke nor signed. To be honest, I'm not sure any of us knew what to make of the old woman who followed me, straggly gray hair to her waist, frayed clothes, and quick eyes squinting against the light.

My mind filled with questions, but where should I begin? And what if her answers hurt me even more than the fact she'd been absent from our lives all those years?

It was Alice who broke the silence. “The pirates say you're an ally. So why aren't you helping us?”

The woman laughed, but it sounded strange, like she was out of practice. “Pirates, you say? I think they prefer to call themselves privateers. Though it means much the same thing, I suppose. Anyway, how do you know that?”

“We overheard a conversation last night. Dare said we had an ally now.”

She frowned. “Really?”

“Are you an ally, or aren't you?” I asked. I signed for Griffin too.

She thought about this. “I'm here to reconcile you with your families. That's all.”

“Doesn't seem that way,” snapped Alice. “You've been watching us ever since the pirates landed, haven't you? You could've joined us.”

“No. I don't exist.”

“Of course you exist. You're here, with us.”

“That's not what your Guardians have been telling you for the past thirteen years, though. Right?” She smiled again, but it seemed angry. “Tell me: Exactly how
did
I die? Was it sudden sickness? Drowning? Lost at sea? Really, I'm intrigued.”

“Lost at sea.”

“Of course. Not very original, but hard to disprove. And you all believed it, which is the main thing. Because whatever happens, we must always trust the Guardians, mustn't we?”

She leaned against the ladder. Beneath the grime, I could see that she wasn't so old after all; certainly younger than Guardian Lora.

I caught up signing to Griffin. When I was done, his eyes remained fixed on me, as if he wasn't comfortable looking at this woman. I could understand why. He'd been told she was dead. Now she was standing before him. Did anything make sense to him anymore?

I pulled the picture from my pocket and turned it toward her.

“Beautiful family.” She snorted. “Too bad it's incomplete.”

My breath caught. I couldn't believe she'd talk about her own daughter like that.

“I suppose this means you got all the way to the top of Bodie Lighthouse,” she continued. “You must've been even busier last night than I realized—braver than I gave you credit for too. What made you want to visit my humble home?”

“Dare said it was important. He seems frightened of you. Is it because you're a seer like him?”

From above us, the cat let out another hiss. The woman responded by raising her arms. The animal obediently leaped into them.

“I doubt it. Not all seers glimpse the future the same way.” She began stroking the cat. It nuzzled against her. “Many years ago, your Guardians claimed Dare had the ability to visualize his greatest future need. At the time, that need seemed to be me.”

“Why?”

“Probably because I was a doctor. I could heal people.”

“People with Plague, you mean?”

She flinched. “No, not that. None of us could cure that.” She dug her fingers into the cat's fur and sighed. “What else did he say?”

“He said they'd be crossing the bridge today,” said Alice. “Which reminds me: When did you get rid of the plank?”

She smiled. “When you first went back to Hatteras.”

“And if we'd needed to cross the bridge, what then?”

“You had canoes. I was far more worried about the pirates crossing than you.” She began to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside. I'd like some fresh air. Is that all right with you?”

She placed the cat on the ground and it trotted ahead of us. We followed in a line, and one by one crawled through the hole in the door.

Outside, the wind was strengthening, the air charged with the threat of weather to come.

“We still don't know your name,” I said. “Father used to call you Grandma T, but he never told us your actual name.”

“Everyone called me T, not just your father.” She filled her lungs with the fresh salt air, and raised her face to the sky. “My name is Tessa.”

Hearing that word—
Tessa
—dragged me back to the evening that Lora had died. I could still picture her wrinkled, sallow skin, and hear her rasping breaths. Why would Lora possibly have said my grandmother's name over and over as her life slipped away?

Suddenly that dust-free circle on the shelf inside felt very important indeed.

“I forgot something,” I said quickly. “Carry on to the shelter. I'll catch up.”

I slid back through the door and through the clinic. Once I was sure no one was following me, I made my way to the ladder, and climbed.

I crawled into the cramped attic space and saw the outline of the two sacks. As I pressed toward them, the ceiling below me shifted ominously.

I tried to spread my weight evenly as I dragged the sacks back toward the ladder. I was about to throw them onto the ground below, but thought better of it. Better not risk breaking anything. Instead, I swung my legs onto the ladder and opened the first sack. The light was low, but I could make out blankets and a spare tunic. Between them was the lantern I'd found a couple nights earlier; she must have picked it up from the street after I dropped it.

The other sack was heavier. There was a large sheaved knife inside, and various objects I didn't recognize. It would be easier to see them in the light of the clinic.

I was about to close the sack when a white container caught my eye—hard and smooth, no larger than my hand. I removed it and held it close. ASPIRIN was written across it in large letters. Below, in similar but smaller letters, were two words: ARCHARD, LORA.

A faint sound from the clinic stopped me dead. I listened carefully, waiting for it to return, but there was only silence now. So I threw the container back inside the sack and pounded down the steps. I could see most of the building. It was empty.

I took a deep breath to collect myself. Before I could climb back up, I heard the sound again.

I spun around.

Tessa's smile was icy. “Find anything interesting?”