Five: Out of the Dark (3 page)

“Seventeen. How about you?”

“Sixteen.”

I wanted to hear more of his mesmerizing voice. I had to ask something that would keep him talking—so I could just stare at his face. “Do you know much about this place? The Underground, I mean. I remember learning a little about it in school, but I don’t remember much.”

He pushed his chair back and propped his feet up on the table. “I just happen to know quite a bit about it. Are you asking for a history lesson?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I laughed. “Yes, teacher. Teach me, please.”

He cleared his throat dramatically before beginning, in a scholarly voice, “Well, in 1889, there was a big fire—they called it ‘The Great Seattle Fire’—it destroyed thirty-one blocks. The city leaders decided that instead of rebuilding the city as it had been, it would be a good idea to one, construct the new buildings of brick or stone so they wouldn’t burn as easily; and, two, build the streets up one or two stories higher than the original street had been in order to solve some annoying flooding problems.

“So, they lined the old streets with concrete walls, leaving narrow alleyways between the walls and buildings and a wide alley where the street was. The business owners wanted to rebuild right away, not wait for the city to finish the sidewalks and streets one or two stories up. So they built at the level of the original street, knowing that the ground floors of their new buildings would eventually be underground and the next floor up would become the new ground floor. Once the sidewalks were complete, these building owners moved their businesses to the new ground floor and mostly used the lower floors for storage and such.

“In the early 1900’s—I don’t remember exactly when—the city condemned the Underground for fear of the pneumonic plague and the basements were left to deteriorate, except for a small portion that’s been restored and made safe and accessible to the public for guided tours. We’re in the unsafe and un-restored part.”

“Wow,” I rested my elbows on the table and my face in my hands. “Either you paid more attention in school than I did, or your teachers went into way more detail than mine.”

He grinned. “Neither, actually. I found a pamphlet up above one day. I’ve read it like a hundred times out of boredom.”

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t repress a yawn.

“Am I boring you with my vast intelligence and knowledge?” he asked with a haughty, British accent.

I rolled my eyes. “No, no. I’m very impressed, actually. I just haven’t slept much in the last three days.”

“Oh, right. I’m afraid I’m not much of a host. Ladies first—go ahead and choose a spot to sleep.”

Before settling down in a corner for the night, I realized I had a slight problem. The issue wasn’t that I was planning to sleep in an unstable, underground structure near a seventeen-year-old boy I’d just met. It was that I had to go to the bathroom. Bad.

“Umm, Johnathan?”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where he was spreading a thin blanket out on the floor.

“Where do you … uh,” I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I need to use the bathroom.”

When I brought my gaze back to his, his cheeks held a faint flush of pink.

“Well,” he said, “there are toilets down here, but I haven’t found one that works. I … uh … usually take care of business when I’m above ground, in a public restroom. But, when I have to down here, I use a bucket”—the pink of his face turned to a deep red—“I’ll go find you one.”

After all the embarrassing unpleasantness was taken care of, I settled myself in a corner away from Johnathan. I covered up as best I could with my jacket and rested my head on my arms. My last memory before falling into exhausted sleep was of Johnathan laying a blanket over me before going back to his corner of the room.

The sun was halfway to its peak when we ascended out of the depths of the Underground. The disorientation of not being able to tell if it was night or day until stepping out into the world above was going to take some getting used to.

Johnathan took me immediately to Pike’s Market where there were public restrooms that you could use without being a paying customer. I washed my hair and cleaned up as best I could in the small sink. My clothes were a mess, but I had no others to change into.

There were few clouds in the sky and the warmth of the sun was addicting. Johnathan and I went to a park near the pier and lay on the grass, soaking up the rays while we could.

“What brought you here, Paige?” he asked, picking at the grass.

I told him about the boys and Sadie, about how freaked out I’d been—and still was—and about practicing to see what else I could do. I hesitated before telling him about my dad’s reaction when he caught me using magic. The emotional wounds were still new; raw and painful.

One look into Johnathan’s dark brown eyes revealed his deep compassion. I trusted him and wanted to tell my story—to share my pain with him. I had a feeling he would understand completely.

We were both silent for several minutes after I finished. I looked down as I pulled at the grass and piled it up next to me. When I raised my gaze again, after I was sure I had control of my emotions, Johnathan watched me.

“Your turn now. Why are you here?” I asked.

His face became an emotionless mask. He sat up and bent his knees, resting his forearms there as he twirled a blade of grass between his fingers. He stared into the distance and started to say something before shaking his head and turning away from me.

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

“Sorry. I just … I can’t talk about it.” His voice was husky.

“It’s okay,” I repeated. “Let’s go explore. Do you think I can find an extra set of clothes somewhere … for free?”

The homeless shelter Johnathan led me to was quiet at that time of day. The volunteer who greeted us didn’t ask any questions, she just got me some pants, a shirt and some underthings from the shelves of donated items. At Johnathan’s request, she also handed me a blanket.

Back in our Underground retreat, I changed clothes in the storage room. Johnathan showed me how he tapped into the water pipes in the ceiling for water to wash his clothes. While I hung my clothes over exposed boards to dry, Johnathan made a suggestion.

“I’ve been thinking that I should try to find out some information about this … magic. Now that there are two of us, I think it’s even more important. What do you think?”

I sat next to him on the floor where he’d been watching me. “Where would we go to get information?”

He shrugged. “Well, I figure that since we’re real … since our powers are real, maybe some other people really have certain powers, too.”

“Like who?”

“Like psychics maybe. We should start with the psychics.” He turned to me, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

I smiled. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

We set out to find a real psychic. After a couple of weeks and what seemed like a million imposters, we found one who was definitely legit.

Madame LaForte was a retired recluse who refused all visitors. But, even elderly paranormal women couldn’t resist Johnathan’s charms. He not only convinced her to invite us into her fortress of a house, but she even offered us stale cookies and a drink. There was a feeling about her that made me sure she was the real thing. There were moments during our conversation that I could see a glow surrounding her. As quick as it appeared, it was gone, only to reappear a few minutes later. Her touch felt different, too, like a small electric shock without the pain. I forgot all about the Madame for a minute as Johnathan’s arm brushed mine and sent tingles flying up to my shoulder. My heart raced and I thought how glad I was that Madame LaForte only had a small loveseat for us to sit on. My heart rate continued to increase when he didn’t move his arm away; he kept the contact with my bare skin. I lost track of the conversation for a minute. The elderly psychic’s shaky, rough voice broke through my lapse of concentration.

“… . are magical. I can feel it. I can feel your powers. You’re strong, you two. Very strong.” She stood and went to a dusty bookshelf where she removed an ancient looking white book. “I dreamed about you. There were more of you, but it was definitely you.”

“More?” Johnathan asked. “How many more?”

She waved a wrinkled, knotted hand in front of her. “I don’t remember. Three, maybe four. That isn’t important. The important thing is this book.” She handed it to Johnathan. “I was instructed in the dream to give it to you.”

We thanked Madame LaForte and took the book back to our hiding spot. We poured over the information in the little white book. It contained information about creatures I thought were only in Fairy Tales, their strengths and weaknesses—how to remove them from the Earth. It talked a little about magic, but it looked like we’d have to figure most of that out on our own. One thing it talked about that I’d already figured out from my own practices was that magic wasn’t without limitations. The more magic I did, the more exhausted it made me. We were both glad to read, though, that we could build endurance by practicing—like a marathon runner.

So, we started to practice and learn.

hanneling rods, we’d read in our little white instruction book, were used to channel spells—to make them go where they were aimed. I carved mine out of a dowel I’d pulled out of the back of a broken chair. Johnathan carved his out of a piece of the leg of the same chair. The book said we should individualize them, make them unique to us.

We’d been together for about a month. We hadn’t run into much trouble in that time. An occasional homeless person wandered down into the Underground with us, but they were mostly harmless.

One night, when we were carving symbols into our channeling rods, Johnathan sat up from his slumped position and cocked his head to the side, listening.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” I said. I wanted to finish the symbol I was working on, so I didn’t offer to go with him.

I will admit, I was a
little
annoyed when Johnathan returned with another teenage boy in tow. I kind of wanted to just keep Johnathan to myself.

“Paige, this is Alec. I found him wandering around down here … using a
star-bright
to light his way.”

I really couldn’t say I was surprised. Since visiting Madame LaForte, we’d kind of been expecting someone to show up.

“Hey, Paige.” The boy with dirty blonde hair reached out for a fist bump. I obliged with a little reluctance. He saw our
star-brights
in the jar and added his to the collection before plopping down next to me. “What’s that?” He pointed to my channeling rod.

“A channeling rod. Here.” I tossed the white book at him. “Read all about it.” I’m afraid I wasn’t very good at keeping the annoyance out of my voice.

Alec paged through the book. Every time he turned the page, he made some sort of annoying exclamation. “Wow! Awesome! Where’d you guys get this?”

Johnathan joined us, handing Alec an open can of beans and a bottle of water we’d filled up that afternoon. “So, what’s your story? What forced you Underground?” he asked Alec.

“I wasn’t forced. It was a choice.” He slurped a mouthful of beans out of the can. “The short version of the story is that I was in foster care and I didn’t much care for the extracurricular activities of my latest foster parents.”