The Gleaning (5 page)

I went to her. Jude followed.

Taking our hands, she led us through the air until in the distance we saw a golden Mediterranean coast, where a tiny sailboat was fighting the waves. Then I saw him, the poet Shelley, flailing in the water. He looked just like Logan. No—he
was
Logan, and he was drowning. But why couldn’t he Breathe?

“I have to save him,” I cried, diving away from Jude into the stormy sea. My amulet shone in the dark water, and Logan’s terrified eyes met mine as I swam toward him. Wrapping my arms around him, I struggled to carry him to the surface. But he was too heavy, and I was too weak to save him. Down, down, we sank like stones, until his eyes were dead and gray, and his body lay limp in my arms.

I jerked awake, alarm flooding my body.

Swiftly, my eyes took in my surroundings: art posters hanging on the wall, the beginning of dawn’s light peeking through my curtains.

I was home.

But the dream was too clear. Logan and Jude and…her.

The forbidden pleasure, and the panic that followed.

What if my dream was an omen? I assumed the doppelganger was another Spellspinner, a shapeshifter—what if my doppelganger was what Jude said: a phantom. A harbinger of death? And what about the mark on Jude’s hip? Thank goddesses it was just a dream. He couldn’t be the Chosen. Could he?

Time for speculation was over. My whole destiny hung in the balance.

I went to my desk and pulled out Grandma Rose’s journal. The stone adorning its cracked leather cover—a replica of my amulet—flashed as I opened the book.

“Come on, Rose,” I said, staring at the blank pages. “I need help. Please help me know what to do next.”

Gradually the text appeared on the page.

Lily

As much as I hated abandoning Logan’s trail, I had to go after this cruel shapeshifter. If I let her go, if I didn’t find out her true identity, Logan and I would be in even worse shape for the Gleaning. Tears of frustration ran down my cheeks, stinging the blisters on my scalded skin. Jacob’s fire had given her a huge lead—Jacob might even be the one who sent her.

I closed my eyes and urgently called upon the Seven Sisters for strength. The moon’s beams seeped into my pores, rejuvenating my tired muscles and restoring some of the energy I’d lost in the Grove. I took off into the forest.

Bare feet pounding the carpet of pine needles and damp euca-leaves, I sprinted in the direction she’d gone. She’d lacked a scent, which made it harder to track her. It also suggested that she wasn’t a witch, but a human girl Jacob had enchanted. But how could he have known about the enchantment to begin with? Logan’s protective spell against Jacob’s prying ears must not have been strong enough. But that wasn’t it. Logan knew I wanted to meet him, but he didn’t know why. Only my coven knew that.

Chills ran down my spine, but I didn’t have long to contemplate that potential betrayal.

A flash of white curved around a cluster of trees, and I pushed myself harder. My powerful strides lofted me through the air for several seconds at a time. Faster than ever, I pushed through the wind. If I could just catch her, I could get all the answers. Or at least some. And that was all I needed to keep one foot in front of the other.

I was getting close; her shimmering skin glittered under the silken gown. I’d almost reached her when a strobe of brilliant light flashed in my eyes like a streak of lightning. I blinked, nearly tripping over a log. When I regained my balance, I continued after her at full speed. Her hair was an unnatural version of mine, so shiny it looked fake, like a shampoo commercial. The white silk of her dress flashed again, blinding me. Stumbling, I reached out for a tree to hold onto while I regained my footing.

When my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I saw red dust smeared all over my hands. The contrast of red against the white of the euca’s trunk was stark and telling. It looked like the poison dust of a powerful warlock.

How could it be on this tree?

Had the girl left this critical clue, or was it from when Jacob had passed through as a tornado of noxious smoke?

A third possibility: distraction.

The strobe, the fresh blood-colored dust—they didn’t have to mean anything. They could be red herrings as she tried to lose me in the forest.
Stop pausing to ogle breadcrumbs and catch that witch, Lil.

I slammed my open palm against the tree—a blow so hard the trunk cracked and buckled. By the time I heard it crash to the ground, I was at least a hundred yards ahead, half-running, half-flying, causing the earth to shake beneath my feet.

Logan

Logan was above the action, his body soaring high over dark clouds. Over sweeping forests of black-green, suspended above a vast canopy of trees. His focus narrowed until it centered on a handcrafted wooden structure nestled among thick branches near the top of a tall oak.

“Mama! Daddy!” a young voice cried.

Logan peered closer, trying to make out who had cried for help. And then, in a whirled flash, he was lost, sucked inside the tree house, looking out at a little wooden cabin. Creamy smoke curled out of the chimney, drifting toward the stars. He felt scared, lost, and alone.

If his parents were home, why weren’t they coming for him?

What? Logan looked down at skinny arms dangling from a waif’s frame. Where had that thought come from?

A red Spider-Man T-shirt and jean shorts. Tiny bare feet. Shivering, he waited as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he bent over onto knobby knees, discovering action figures he was overwhelmingly interested in playing with: a small wooden wizard wearing a tiny blue-cone hat. A bright green dragon.

He was allowed to play with these toys here, but not in the real house. He didn’t understand why.

“Where am I?” Logan said out loud.

Everything was dark and smelled the way blackberries do after they’ve been basking in afternoon sun—fresh, ripe, and begging to be eaten.

Picking berries from the thicket near his house was one of his favorite things. He knew to watch for thorns. Mama always warned him even sweet things could sting.

Rubbing his eyes, his long legs still shrunk into kid’s pajamas, he wondered what time it was and when he’d fallen asleep. One thing Logan knew without a doubt was that his spirit inhabited the body of a young boy, and he needed to figure out why. His memories, thoughts, and feelings merged with this small child’s until he couldn’t separate one from the other. After an hour or so of frustration, he stopped trying and simply gave into the nostalgic sensation of wonder.

Peeking out the circular window, Logan examined the snowflake-shaped stars scattered across the night sky until he settled on the brightest of all—the planet Venus. On tiptoes, he could see every crater, every hole like he had Superman’s vision. Daddy talked about the man in the moon, how if you looked close enough you could see him. But he never talked about this bright planet that looked like Mama’s smile.

His little heart skipped a beat when he looked down. He was so high up! How would he get down? Holding on to the splintery wall, he tripped on something—a rope—with bars. A ladder! He held onto the coils and was about to fling it down like the unraveling of a cartoon tongue, when he stopped. Something, an intuition maybe, made him set it back down.

Lily

The earth stopped shaking, and I looked down and saw something lavender in my hand. It was a shoelace, with the plastic tip cut off, not a ribbon at all. Where had it come from?

In my mind’s eye, I replayed my attempt to grab the doppelganger’s wrist. All the sensations returned in full force: my fingers slipping through her buttery flesh, the strobe, her wisp of wicked laughter in the breeze. A flash of lavender as she slipped from my grasp.

It may not be much, but it was something. And unlike the strobe and the giggles and the red dust on the euca-trees, this was a clue I wasn’t meant to find.

Logan

“Logan, shh…stay quiet.”

“Mama!”

“Shh. It’s okay, I’m here now,” she said in a soft whisper.

Like the hero-prince in one of her stories, Mama appeared in the doorway of the tree house—her hair tied in a knot, her mouth twisted with worry—to rescue him.

“How did you climb up without the ladder?” he asked.

Mama cupped his face in her hands, filling him with an odd sensation, like swallowing a mug of melted honey. “Magic,” she whispered.

“Teach me.”

“I will. Someday.” She kissed both of his cheeks, then glanced out the doorway again. Her expression, and the low, urgent tone of her voice, frightened him. “Don’t be scared. You are the bravest boy in the whole wide world.”

“Braver than Spider-Man?”

“Braver. And wiser than Merlin.”

“Wiser than Merlin? Nobody is wiser than Merlin.” He was trying his hardest not to shout.

“Except you, Logan. You are wiser than Merlin and stronger than the strongest dragon.”

“Now I know you are making up stories, Mama. I’ll
never
be as strong as a dragon.”

“You are the most special boy in the world, and one day you’ll be as strong as a dragon.”

“I don’t feel as strong as a dragon.”

“You will, Logan,” she said, with flashing, knowing eyes. Then Mama pulled something, a chain with a glowing stone, out of her pocket. “This is for you. It’s a magic amulet. Never take it off, and it will always guide you.”

“A necklace?” He crinkled his little nose. “Necklaces are for girls.”

“Not this one. This one is for wizards.”

The amulet shone in his hand. “Cover its light. Like this.” Mama tucked the stone under his T-shirt’s collar. “It will keep you safe.”

“You keep me safe.”

Mama wrapped him tightly in her arms. So tight it almost hurt. He tried to wiggle away, but she only held him tighter. She whispered in his ear. “It will keep you safe…” her voice cracked, “when I can’t. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, do not come out of this tree house. Do you understand?”

“But I can’t stay here forever.”

“Someone will come for you. Do not come down alone. Promise me.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. I love you so much.”

Logan smelled smoke, more than just chimney-smoke this time. He heard voices. Scary voices.

His mother kissed him again, and when she backed away, his cheeks were wet from her tears.

Facing him, she stood in the doorway of the little tree house. He covered his mouth, stifling a scream, as she took a step back and floated on air as if there were an invisible platform under her boots.

He wanted to call out for her, to please come back, to please not leave him alone, but he remembered her warning, to stay quiet. To stay still. All he could do was reach out his hand and watch powerlessly as she floated away into the smoky darkness.

Lily

I heard a low, accented voice coming from the woods and smelled smoke. Clutching the ribbon, I took off after it, stopping short when I almost ran over a star drawn in the dirt. Candles flickered at all its points, and there was a swaddled baby lying in the center.

A black-cloaked figure chanted down at the child.

“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing?”

The hooded figure looked up at me. It was a guy with cerulean eyes. Like Logan’s, his face was preternaturally handsome; his skin young and smooth.

He blinked, like he recognized me, before turning away. I thought he might bolt into the forest; but instead, he flicked his swordfinger toward the baby. I screamed as the flame struck the child’s arm, and a white light flashed in my eyes like it had on the trail. In the same instant, something stabbed me in the same spot on my own arm.

I lunged at the warlock, but he pulled me along with him. A stray bolt from his swordfinger hit the tree above us, igniting it. Wrestling from his grasp, I ran back toward the star to rescue the baby, but just like in the Grove, a spell stopped me from penetrating its outline. The baby wasn’t moving. I slammed my palms into the force field, mumbling a spell that might grant me entrance. But the Seven Sisters weren’t budging. It was strange, because they always lent magic to help a human child.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t a child.

It was a doll.

What the hell was going on here?

“You think I’d injure a baby?” an English accented voice said from behind me. “Come on, I’m a warlock not a monster. That hurts. Deeply.”

I spun around to see him patting his heart sarcastically. “Who are you?” I demanded, shoving him into a tree.

“No one of importance,” he said. A wave of blond hair swept over his forehead, unable to conceal his taunting eyes.

“That’s a voodoo doll. Who are you, and what do you want?”

He glanced at the ribbon in my fist. “Maybe I’m punishing you. Haven’t you heard? It’s not proper for a boy to see his girl before the ball.” His words oozed sarcasm and something else…jealousy? He blinked as if considering something, then said, “But while I have you”—he sauntered slowly toward me—“you might consider taking me to the ball instead. I am quite the catch.”