The Rising (5 page)

I collapsed onto the nearest seat. “Again, you are a genius.”

“Not done yet. I got you a treat.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

“Oh my God. Is that an apple? Two apples?” I leaped up, snatched them, then fell back on the seat. “I think Grandma was right. I really have died and gone to heaven.” I took a huge bite of the apple and groaned.

“Normally, I'd say you're weird,” Corey said. “But after days of eating junk food, those do look good.” He turned to Daniel. “That's really sexist, you know, buying the chick a—”

Daniel took another one from his backpack.

“Oh my God. I think I love you.” Corey threw open his arms. The apple bounced off his forehead. “Oww.”

I shook my head, closed my eyes, and smiled.

I
T WAS LESS THAN
an hour to the mainland, but by the time we got there, we'd rested, cleaned up, and were feeling better. Most importantly, we'd come up with a plan. A desperate plan, but no worse than anything we'd tried so far. We were going to our funeral.

Crazy? Yes. And when Corey had suggested it, Daniel and I rattled off a list of reasons why we couldn't try it. Yet the idea took root and the more we thought about it, the more we realized it might be really our only chance to make contact with our parents.

Once we were back in Vancouver, we went to another library and found an obituary website hosted by the
Victoria Times-Colonist
newspaper. How strange was it, typing my own name into the search box? Not nearly as strange as seeing the details of my passing fill the screen, along with pages of condolences. Summer kids and their parents. Guys I'd dated. Coaches and fellow athletes I'd met at track meets. Employees at the Victoria Refuge Centre. People who knew my mom, my dad, my grandmother. People recollecting moments with me that, sometimes, I didn't even remember myself.

As I read, Daniel wheeled his chair over behind me.

“Everyone will know the truth soon enough,” he whispered.

I nodded. As I printed the funeral details, Corey turned from the computer beside mine.

“Uh, guys? You know that email address I set up? We've got a message.”

I slid my chair over. Corey had the message displayed on the screen.

It was from Cyril Mitchell's daughter. She'd decided to talk to us, but what she had to say was too important for a phone conversation. She'd looked up the area code from our phone call and knew we were in Vancouver, so she was on her way here and would arrive late morning.

“She sent it yesterday,” Corey said. “Meaning she's already here. She says she'll be checking email and wants us to give a time and place to meet.”

“Reply and say we'll meet at the aquarium at”—I checked Daniel's watch—“four. We'll be in the lobby.”

He sent the message. We were still looking up maps for the funeral location when the reply came back. Four o'clock, yes. At the aquarium, yes. But not in the lobby. Someplace more private. Fortunately, the aquarium was deep in Granville Park, meaning privacy was only a short walk away. We chose a spot, then sent a message back. Ten minutes later, she accepted.

We'd been planning to visit the site of the memorial service, to check it out, but if Mitchell's daughter was coming, then it seemed we wouldn't need that anymore. So we got a late lunch and tried to relax. Then we caught a cab to the aquarium. We'd just crossed the bridge onto Granville Island when Corey gasped. The three of us were wedged in the backseat, me between the guys, and I looked over to see Corey's face pale, his mouth open, his eyes filled with pain. Before I could say anything, he let out a strangled yowl and doubled over, his head in his hands.

“What is wrong with him?” the driver asked, his voice rising as he slowed.

I leaned past Corey to get the window down.

“It's just a headache,” Daniel said.

It wasn't just a headache. It was one of Corey's raging migraines, which had been getting steadily worse. As he moaned, his head nearly in his lap, I managed to get the pill bottle from his pocket. I was shaking one out when he heaved and dry-retched.

The cabbie pulled over so fast we nearly got whiplash.

“Out!” he said. “No drunk kids in my cab!”

“He's not drunk,” Daniel said. “It's just a—”

“Out! Out!”

Daniel started to argue. I stopped him. His powers only worked when someone was willing to be persuaded. This guy was not. We managed to get Corey—still coughing and sputtering—from the cab. Daniel turned to pay, but the guy was already speeding off.

“Should try that more often,” Corey mumbled as we led him to the side of the road. “Save some cash.”

Cars streaming into the park—which is a thoroughfare to downtown Vancouver—began slowing to watch us. For three days now we'd been moving through Vancouver and Galiano with only some thought to remaining hidden. Now, having seen our obituaries, I began to wonder if it was only blind luck that no one had yet recognized us from a newspaper article. The way we'd died—escaping a forest fire only to perish ironically in the helicopter taking us to safety—might have made us newsworthy. Slipping through the city, we'd probably go unnoticed. But standing by a busy road, helping a “drunk” friend after being kicked from a cab? We were calling too much attention to ourselves.

“Get him in the woods,” I said, motioning to the forest that flanked the road.

As we did that, Corey had recovered enough to dry-swallow the pill and walk on his own.

“At least I didn't actually puke this time,” he said. “That's a bonus.” He winced and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sit down,” I said. “We're early and it's only a short walk.”

He seemed ready to argue, then took another step and looked like he was going to throw up. He made a face and lowered himself onto a tree stump. We said nothing, just waited.

After a moment, he waved to head out. We did, but Daniel and I kept shooting glances at Corey. The St. Clouds had been keeping his headaches under control. They knew what was going on. We didn't. We couldn't. No one could, not even other supernaturals, because there was no one like Corey out there. If we never went back to the St. Clouds, never had contact with them again, how could we help—

We'd figure it out. We had to.

A
S WE NEARED THE
aquarium, Corey stopped suddenly.

“It's a trap,” he said.

“What?”

“I—” He took a deep breath. “I think it's a trap. I mean, are we sure this chick is who she says she is? All we know is that someone emailed us.”

“Using an address you just set up and we only gave to Mitchell's daughter,” I said.

“What's wrong?” Daniel said.

Corey shook his head. “Nothing. I just . . . I think we should reconsider.” He glanced toward the aquarium. “I think we need to be really, really sure that the person showing up is a woman. We should scout first.”

Which made absolute sense. Except that Corey was never the guy advising caution; he was the one
we
had to caution.

“It's not a woman waiting for us, is it?” Daniel said.

“I don't know. I'm just saying—”

“No, you're not.”

Daniel instinctively took on his persuasive tone, then seemed to catch himself. He cleared his throat. Earlier we'd talked about this, how he didn't want to use his powers on us. Now, without thinking, he was doing it and he looked abashed, but I wasn't sure he had a reason to. It was a skill as much as a talent. Something he'd always done, except with me. Maybe because he knew I was too damned stubborn to be persuaded of anything.

He cleared his throat again. “You're not ‘just saying,' Corey. You saw who's waiting for us. You had a vision with the headache.”

“What?” Corey said. “Um, no. You're confusing me with Maya. She gets the visions.”

“This is different,” Daniel said. “You see images of things that don't make any sense. Like Maya with Rafe when we thought he was dead. You saw him with Maya in her backyard. Exactly the way they looked when we found them, right?”

Corey glanced at me.

“I didn't tell him.” I said. “You know I wouldn't do that.”

“I overheard,” Daniel said. “You're never as quiet as you think you are, Corey. It didn't make sense at the time, but after, I started wondering. Then when we were in that van, you knew it was Maya rescuing us before she got the door open.”

He was right. Both about Rafe and the van. I just hadn't made the connection.

“What did you see?” Daniel asked before Corey could deny it.

Corey stood there, cracking his knuckles.

“You see visions of the future,” I said. “That's your power. What's wrong with that?”

“Seriously?” He looked over at me. “Daniel is a demon-hunter. You're a shape-shifter. Apparently, I'm a fortune-teller. On a cool scale, that ranks about a five. Add in the headaches and puking, and I'd knock it down to a two.”

“So, because you've decided your power isn't cool enough, you're going to let us walk into a trap?”

“No. I warned you, didn't I?” He caught Daniel's look and shuffled his feet. “Fine. But if anyone starts buying me crystal balls and Tarot cards . . .”

“Of course not,” I said. “We can't afford it.”

He grumbled, then shoved his hands in his pockets. “There's not much else to tell and I don't know whether it's real or not, so I don't want you guys relying on what I say. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“There's a guy waiting for us. A kid, I think. Maybe our age. Brown hair. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Tanned. I didn't see much of his face. I'm not even sure about the—”

“We understand,” I said. “Don't second-guess.”

“He's in the woods. In a tree.”

“A tree?”

“Don't ask me. I just get flashes. Images. I saw Maya in the woods right over there”—he pointed—“and there was a guy in a tree.” He jammed his hands into his pockets again. “Hell, now that I'm saying it, I don't even know if he's waiting for us. It could just be a kid goofing off.”

“Okay, well, let's just keep that all in mind, then.” Daniel turned to me. “Are you ready?”

I nodded.

No one was waiting for us.

After ten minutes, I said, “Maybe this isn't the right spot. We said just inside the forest, but . . .” I peered deeper into the woods. “I'd say we should split up, but considering what Corey saw—”

I stopped and looked at them. “That's what Corey saw. We'd split up. I was in the forest alone.”

“Okay,” Daniel said. “So we don't split . . .” He trailed off and scowled at me. “That's not what you're going to suggest, is it?”

“Corey didn't see me getting attacked by some guy in a tree—”

“Hey, no,” Corey said. “I see still pictures. No action. A snapshot. You were under a tree with a guy in it. For all I know, he jumped you two seconds later.”

“But now I'm ready, so
we'll
get the jump on him.”

We had to at least pretend that we'd split up to search for our contact. That meant I couldn't exactly walk around gaping at the treetops. I kept glancing up, but with the dense trees and shadows, every nest looked like someone crouching on a branch. Then, as I passed under a tree, I heard a limb creak.

I looked up. Sure enough, there was someone at least ten meters up, almost hidden by the thick needle-laden branches.

“Guys?” I said.

I waved Daniel and Corey over, and I looked up again.

“I can see you,” I said. “Come on down.”

The figure didn't move. I walked over and grabbed the trunk. That brought Daniel at a jog, but he didn't try to stop me, just watched as I shimmied up.

I made it almost as far as the first thick branch when the guy jumped onto the limb below him, then onto a neighboring tree and shuffled down a limb, gripping the one above for balance.