The Ylem (32 page)
“I have a better idea, but first eat some
cake.” He pointed to the Tres Leches.
I didn’t need to think twice before taking my
second bite. He moved around the counter, sat on the bar stool
across from me and turned to look at the snake plant standing next
to his elbow. It was a weird-looking plant my dad used to have on
his desk at the apartment. I’d put it here because the pot matched
some stainless-steel appliances in the kitchen. But it’d been a bad
idea. The green snake-like leaves had become tainted by a
yellowish, wilted color.
Tristan held out his arm and placed his hand
over the plant. It took me a few seconds to notice what he was
doing. The leaves were recovering their natural color, as if
someone was spraying a glossy green over them, and some that
drooped on the sides straightened. The leaves looked bright and
full of life now. Magic wasn’t the word, miracle was more like
it.
He looked at me and stilled, as if he’d
suddenly realized what he’d done.
“You have the power to revive plants?”
He pulled back his hand and paused. “Um,
undines are…connected with vegetation, as Sylphs are,” he added.
“We can feel and listen to its whisper, because they’re after all
living organisms in nature, but without the possibility of
locomotion.”
I’d heard of people talking to plants but
honestly had thought of it as a crazy thing to do. “Can you do it,
too?”
He paused and lowered his eyes. “She says
you’ve forgotten about her, but she understands,” he said. “She
also says that she prefers being on your father’s desk while his
imagination is running. She loves that energy.”
I’d never told him about that plant being on
my father’s desk. “How did you—”
“She told me,” he answered, as if he’d known
what was coming. “They talk with subtle whispers. It’s rather
difficult to get used to, but once you do, they’re perfectly
perceptible.”
I looked at the vivid plant and a deep
sensation of remorse bit me. How little it took to make them happy
and healthy. “I promise I will take better care of her.” I said,
looking back at him.
He lowered his eyes and smiled. “Thank you,
she says.”
I turned to the plant. Or to
her
.
“You’re welcome.” I said like it was a question. Talking to
something that was stuck into a pot felt extremely odd, even if
that something was a living being and not an object to thrust
aside, apparently.
Sorry
, I told her in my mind. I
suddenly felt the need.
“What are your other skills?” I said, looking
back at him.
He stared at me, eyes intense. “Rain.”
“Rain? You can create rain?”
“More like attract rain,” he explained. “For
some reason it’s deeply connected to my emotional state. When I
tend to get sad…really sad for a long period of time,” he said as
if ashamed, “clouds seem to come my way and rain starts to fall
down afterwards. I wouldn’t call that a skill, though.”
But it was definitely something. Still, there
was always that mysterious sadness haunting his eyes from time to
time. And that, he couldn’t hide. At least not from me.
“Why do you think Ruidoso gets largely more
rain than other parts of the state?” he asked me.
I furrowed my brow, my heart suddenly heavy.
“Why do you get sad?” I asked, walking around the counter to him.
It bothered me to think of him being sad. I felt the urge to erase
whatever that was troubling him.
He twisted in the chair and took my hands,
settling them on his knees. “The last time it happened was when I
decided to stay away from you. I think it rained one whole day,” he
said without looking at me, stroking my fingers.
The rain
, I remembered. That morning
in the car watching the gray skies. It wasn’t my inner state
reflected outside. It was his, literally. We were both sad.
“Except that not every time it rains it’s
because of me. There are natural causes as well.” He smiled.
“Sure. But…what was the reason behind the
other times it did rain because of you?”
His expression turned hard. “Just
things.”
He wasn’t ready to tell me, that much was
obvious, and I didn’t want to push him. I slid my hand away from
his and raised it to touch his face. “Whenever you feel like
letting go what’s hurting you inside, I’ll be here. Always.”
He looked at me, eyes sparkling, and said
with a small voice, “Thank you.”
I smiled. “So, tell me…” I bent over the
counter to grab the cake and sat down in the stool next to his. I
knew this conversation would cheer him up. “How come do you have a
car like the one you have? I’ve never seen it before.”
“Connections.” He smiled brightly, proud of
the indirect compliment I’d made. “The HX hasn’t really come out
yet. It’s a concept car—like Vincent's yellow Lamborghini. They’re
not in production.”
Huh, their cars were truly unique then.
“You would be surprised by how widespread
Shifters are in the world. There are even some of us working at the
Pentagon.”
“Really?” I asked. Passing at the
headquarters of the U.S Department of Defense must have been a hard
task.
“We’re pretty good at defense. Our
preservation instinct is way sharper than human's. Some of the best
strategic plans have come from us." He smirked. "We’re too valuable
to the national security of this country. Ironic isn’t it?”
Depending on creatures that could rip us
apart in a second? Yes
.
“But if you don’t change physically over the
years, how come they haven’t found out about you?” We were talking
about the smartest people in the U.S. Unless…
He paused, eyeing me. “The secretary of
defense knows about us. I think the President does as well. They’ve
been working with Shifters for nearly a century since the Covenant.
And from what I know, they’re really good at keeping secrets.” He
raised an eyebrow. “We work for them, stay low, respect the rules,
and they allow us to live in peace and have somewhat normal lives.
But the winds say we’re not the only secret they’re keeping from
people. They’ve had contact with other beings as well.”
“Other beings?” I said, engrossed. I had the
feeling he wasn’t talking about vampires. “You mean…people from
outside of the earth?”
“Yes. I think they’ve already worked with
them on aircrafts and some other things. But they can’t disclose
the truth. Humans aren't ready to receive this news, like you.” He
looked at me amused. “It seems you’re in shock.”
“I'm just…astonished. I thought it was just a
story people were making up, since our mind betrays us sometimes.
I'm going to start believing the stories about Bigfoot and the Loch
Ness Monster from now on. Nothing is what it seems,
apparently.”
He laughed. “It has never been.”
Right
, I said to myself. How many
things were in the top secret folder of the government? At least I
knew two of them. Hah! “So you have a good relation with the DOD,
then?” I said, taking another piece of cake into my mouth.
“Not just with them, but with the Interpol as
well,” he said. “My father worked for several years during the
nineties at the Interpol’s headquarters in Lyon, France. He helped
with several cases in the IPO’s database.”
“The Interpol? Wow. Why did he leave?” I
asked. A gallery was such a different path.
He grabbed my fork and pierced a piece of
cake from the pan. “He didn’t like being involved with Insurgents’
slaying.”
“Like, killing them?”
“I know it sounds brutal, but it’s the only
way to stop them. They’re slaves of their own lust.”
Jesus. I wouldn’t want to find one of those.
Thank God the chances were pretty slim. I frowned. The dark hunch
I’d felt in my gut yesterday came back. “Are Shifters rare?” I
asked.
He nodded. “Last time my father checked the
IPO’s database, there were no more than 900 Shifters around the
world.” He was right. That was practically nothing compared to the
almost seven billion humans in the world.
“So, when you came to Ruidoso, you already
knew there were Shifters living here? Elan and Mingan, I mean.”
He shook his head. “We met them at our
arrival. Their mother told them about us. She spotted us at the
supermarket and realized what we were immediately. Living with two
Shifters gives you that extra perception, I guess."
"And being Apache must help, too."
He frowned. "Apache? Their mother is from
Colombia." And then, as if he'd remembered something, he said with
a smile, "Elan and Mingan aren't Apache. They told that lie so they
could skip PE. They're half Latino and half Japanese."
"
Really?
" I could imagine Owen's
disappointed face.
“Come on,” Tristan stood up and pulled me to
my feet. “I’ll take you to dinner.”
“Dinner?” I widened my eyes. “Where?”
He smiled. “I know a small, private
restaurant outside town.”
I swallowed. An official date. The thought of
it wrapped my body with nerves. What type of clothes was I supposed
to wear? How was I supposed to act or what was I supposed to do?
Something that seemed so natural to everyone was so complicated to
me. Ugh. I was definitely from another planet, far away from
Venus.
“And I made a promise I would take good care
of you,” he stroked my cheek.
A promise
? “To whom?”
“Your father.”
“My…my what?” Oh God, no.
“Your fath—”
“I know, I know, but…why? How? When did you
speak with him?” This was an outrage, simply an outrage!
“Yesterday night, when I came to talk to
you.”
“I can’t believe this.” My dad was treating
me like a kid!
“He worries about you,” he said, looking at
me with tenderness in his eyes. “If I had a daughter I would
probably act the same.”
Something about his words warmed me. Maybe
the image of him with a little kid had something to with it.
“Okay,” I sighed. “I…I don’t know, I guess you’re right. I’ll go
and change.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. “You
don’t need to. You look beautiful like this,” he said in a low
voice.
I looked down at my clothes and raised my
eyebrows. “You’re kidding me, right?” I had my pajamas on—a green
camisole and a plaid pant. “They’ll kick me out of the restaurant
if I go like this.”
“I dare them to put a finger on you.”
“You know what I mean.”
He released me with a grin. “Don’t take too
long,” he said pleadingly.
I smiled and rushed upstairs. How could
anyone be this sweet?
CALEB
I didn’t know why Gavran insisted on
following some worthless girl. We had enough trouble already with
the Keeper’s body floating somewhere in the river. Soon someone was
going to find it. People were going to get alert and
vigilant—including the Benandanti and the pack living here. And
soon we could kiss goodbye to our furtive presence in this
town.
I sighed and kicked a small rock, raising a
cloud of dirt in the air. Our time here shortened every minute and
Gavran didn’t seem to care. He claimed this girl knew where the
book was, that he’d seen her at the Keeper’s bookstore, that he’d
seen her talking to the Benandanti, and that she’d been the last
person to talk to the Keeper before her death. A death we’d
inflicted.
The Lord’s counselor had been right. The
Keeper had a third eye. She knew we were coming even before
bursting inside the bookstore. She was sitting in her leather chair
with her arms crossed on the desk, eyes fixed on us, without a hint
of shock or surprise. She was strangely calm, as if she’d already
acknowledged her fate—defiant in a way, ready to confront whatever
pain and torture we might have planned.
For a second, I saw myself reflected in those
solid brown eyes. She was giving her life for something she valued,
for something she cared about. Just like me. Just like all of us.
And that usual dab of regret tinged my chest—something I had to
struggle with every time a killing was involved. But as always, I
hid it under a stoic mask of indifference and coldness when Gavran
erupted in anger and slapped the pile of books sitting on her desk,
throwing them onto the floor. The Keeper didn’t have the book
anymore and refused to give out its new warden. And lack of
cooperation was something Gavran couldn’t stand.
He pulled the old lady by the hair, tearing
some strands out from her scalp, and snapped her face onto the
desk, blacking her out. Once she recovered consciousness, we were
deep into the woods along a small riverbed we’d found outside
Ruidoso. She still refused to give an answer, and Gavran’s mental
powers didn’t work with her—Keepers were immune to him for some
reason. Pain didn’t work with her either. It almost seemed her
emotions had been sucked out by a vacuum, leaving a stone-faced old
woman with no fear of death. She was a tomb of silence and Gavran
was losing it.
When he mentioned the girl he’d seen at her
bookstore, though, a glint of something lit up her eyes. That was
all he needed. A grin twisted his lips and with a shove of his
hand, he broke inside her chest, past her sternum, and plucked out
her heart. She remained on her feet for a few seconds, frozen.
Then, she fell to the ground, her head landing on the tip of my
boot.
Still staring at the warm beating heart in
his hands, Gavran ordered us to toss the body into the river.
Confusion wrapped our faces. We couldn’t understand why he’d killed
the only source of information we had left, the only link to the
book. He’d gotten nothing from her, not a word. Yet to him that
last glint of emotion in her eyes had been his answer, he’d said,
like the lighthouse in a coal-black, stormy night. The girl was
involved. He didn’t know how deep, but he was certain she knew
about the book. And Gavran’s instincts had always been the
sharpest. There was a reason why he was alpha.
