True: An Elixir Novel (15 page)

I run my hand over the tender skin. “Like we lied.”

Ben nods. “He’s getting worse. Paranoid. It’s
all part of the same thing. His body’s rejecting his soul, so everything’s getting detached and confused.”

“Hopefully Clea will figure out how to fix it.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but he looks distracted.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I just wonder . . .” He scrunches his mouth and shakes his head. “No, I shouldn’t say.”

I kick at his shin with my bare foot. “Yeah, that’ll make me let it go. Spill.”

Ben smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t want to get you upset.”

It feels chillier in the room, and I pull up my knees and wrap my arms around them. “It’s too late for that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” He sighs. “I just wonder . . . if it’s only Nico’s
body
that’s fighting with Sage’s soul.”

Now it really is colder in the room. I expect to see my breath when I speak. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“It’s possible.”

“Is it? Clea said the soul transfer never would have happened unless Nico was gone.”

“She’s right. And yet . . .” He trails off for so long I can’t bear it.

“And yet
what
?”

“Nico’s gone. I saw it. I . . .”

His voice catches, and this time when he drifts off I know what he’s thinking. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to know you’re responsible for someone dying, even if you didn’t mean it. I’m sure he feels guilty every time he looks at me. I put my hand on top of his and wait for him to collect himself.

“I just wonder,” he continues when he can, “if maybe some part of his soul is still there, inside his body.”

“Trapped?” My heart clenches as I imagine it. Nico’s soul caught in his own body, unable to control it because Sage has taken over . . . forced to sit back and watch him destroy everything he stood for . . .

I can’t breathe.

“Not his whole soul,” Ben says, “more of an echo. In some of the stories I’ve read about soul rejections, that’s how they describe it. The echo of a past soul wreaks havoc because it can’t rest if its body is occupied by someone else.”

“Can’t rest?” I think about today in the pool, and how I tried to reach Nico’s soul but couldn’t. “So you don’t think Nico’s soul can move on?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t want to say
anything. If there is a soul echo stuck inside that body . . .”

“It would be horrible. Nico would never want that.”

“I agree. And if what’s happening to Sage is Nico’s way of fighting for peace . . . maybe we should let him get it.”

It takes me a second to understand exactly what he means. “But if we don’t do anything . . . isn’t that the descent into madness and violence and death?”

“For Sage. But for Nico, maybe it’s a journey to peace.”

It’s like Ben just put an immersion blender into my brain and turned it on high. “Wait—we can’t just let Sage get worse and worse. He’ll be dangerous.
More
dangerous.”

“I know. He knew it too. He told me to kill him if it got to that point.”

“He . . .
what?
”

“I said no. Then he told me to have him locked up in a mental institution, but it’s not like we’re family. I can’t just ask some place to lock him up and have them do it. He’d have to ask for it himself, or do something horrible and get arrested, then have a judge send him away.”

“So we’re supposed to stand by and wait for him to do something so bad he’ll get arrested? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.”

“We need Clea to find something at Transitions,” I say. “Then we can heal Sage right away, before he gets any worse.” Even as I say it, something clangs in my head. “But wait—if Nico’s soul is fighting because it doesn’t want Sage in his body, and we force the body to accept Sage . . . what happens to Nico’s soul?”

“It’s trapped forever,” Ben says. “It never finds rest.”

No. It’s not right. Nico never hurt anyone. It’s not fair that his soul might never move on, or get the chance to be with mine in whatever comes next. When I think about it, the ache is so huge it’s impossible to contain, like trying to imagine the entire universe. I feel like I’ll explode if I try to fit it inside me.

“You really think that’s what would happen?” I ask Ben.

“I do. I think . . . I think maybe the only way Nico can rest is if Sage’s soul is expelled from his body.”

“But Sage would die,” I say breathlessly.

“What kind of life does he have now?” Ben asks. “What kind of life will he have if he
does
get worse, and does something horrible, and spends his mortal life locked away? What kind of life will Clea have, watching Sage come completely unglued? That’s assuming she survives. He already tried to hurt her. And you. What if he kills someone? I don’t think I could live with myself, could you?”

“We have to stop him,” I say. “And the only way to do that is heal him . . . even if that sacrifices Nico’s soul.”

Saying the words nearly kills me, but I don’t know if there’s another way.

“
Or
,” Ben says, “we could stop it by freeing
both
their souls, and letting them both move on.”

The circles under Ben’s eyes look darker suddenly, and the moonlight casts shadows that sink his cheeks and eyes.

I’m scared, but I’m not sure anymore of what. Maybe of myself and what I’m thinking. I can’t let Nico’s soul suffer. He doesn’t deserve it. And Sage has been alive a very long time. Maybe his soul needs to rest too.

I tremble as I ask, “Do you know how to do that? Expel Sage’s soul from Nico’s body?”

“Not yet,” Ben says, “but from what I’ve read, I do know there’s something I’d need. Something I don’t have and maybe you do. Something personal of Nico’s. Do you have anything?”

The ring Nico left me weighs heavily against my chest. I pull the heavy gold ring on its chain and hold it in my palm. Ben leans forward, and his head bends close to mine as he studies the swirling loops.

“He left it for me with a note that said, ‘One day,’ ” I say, the words barely more than a whisper.

“It’s old. The center is a Celtic triskelion. It represents the unity of spirit, mind, and body. The outside ring surrounding it? That’s eternity.” Ben looks up from the ring. “Nico was living under a curse. This symbol represented his hope that he’d break it—that his spirit, mind, and body could live forever in unity, free from that curse. He wanted you to have it because he believed ‘one day’ it would happen . . . and when it did, he wanted his spirit, mind, and body to be with yours, for eternity.”

I stare at the ring and imagine Nico’s face. Not the way I’ve seen it lately, warped by Sage’s soul, but Nico’s own sweet, open smile, and his clear blue eyes. The swirls of the necklace swim as tears
fill my eyes, and I squeeze it in my hand before I turn around and lift my hair off my neck.

“Take it,” I say, my voice thick in my ears. “Before I change my mind.”

Ben unclasps the chain and takes it away. I sob a little as I feel its absence against my chest.

“Find a way to do it.” I whisper, my back still turned to Ben. “Free his soul. He deserves that.”

Ben doesn’t say anything. I feel the heat of his hand above my back, like he wants to comfort me, but I stiffen and he doesn’t touch me. I hear his feet as he climbs the stairs.

Alone in the window seat, I stare out at the moon and the red rocks. I focus on Nico’s soul and promise him peace.

CLEA

The first place Burnham Brightley leads me is his office, beautifully decorated but appropriately humble for a man who has dedicated his life to helping others. He’s clearly thought of everything. He walks toward a circular mahogany table and pulls out one of the chairs. As I sit on the cushy maroon-upholstered seat, he heads to a sideboard and offers me my choice of refreshments before sitting across from me.

“You’re here because you’re ready to make a change, yes?”

“Yes,” I say in my meek-Charlotte voice.

“You’ve taken the first step,” Brightley says with an oily smile. “Your soul has reached out, and Spirit Krysta answered that call. You must be very grateful to her for that kindness.”

He looks so condescending I want to puke. I can only imagine how desperate most of the people who check in here must be if they don’t see it.

“I am.”

“And yet much as you want to, you and Spirit Krysta are having trouble making the transition.”

“Yes,” I say, trying to fill my voice with the proper amount of pain and suffering. It’s a good thing Charlotte would be a woman of few words; I don’t know how much of this I can pull off.

I guess I managed to sound more pained than disgusted, because Brightley frowns sympathetically and places his hand on mine. It feels clammy. “We can help. We will give you the peace you seek, and allow Spirit Krysta to rise in full bloom. However”—he grips my hand with what I think is supposed to be solemn compassion—“we just can’t say for sure how long it will take. Some transitions happen almost immediately once the spirits are in our nurturing environment, while other spirits need to be teased out, even if they want to
emerge very badly. Does that make sense?”

No. “Of course.”

“While you’re awaiting transition, you’ll be in a very sensitive place, and the last thing we want you thinking about are your finances. That’s why we like to take a credit card in advance. We’ll charge only the days you use, and we’ll return the card at the end of your stay.”

I don’t have a credit card with Charlotte’s name on it, but I have come prepared. I still have Larry Steczynski’s black Amex. Larry Steczynski is one of Sage’s aliases; he had several when he was waiting around between my soul’s various lifetimes, and apparently they all did quite well for themselves. “My uncle said he’d cover the cost,” I say, handing over the card and a folded piece of paper. “He sent along a signed letter of permission.”

Brightley raises an eyebrow at the card, then compares the signature on the back to the one on the note. I can all but guarantee that as far as he’s concerned, Spirit Charlotte will need a
very
long time to make her transition. I told Sage to give me twenty-four hours. If I need more, I’ll tell him, but I definitely won’t be staying as long as Brightley would hope.

“Wonderful,” he says. “Now we have some forms for you to sign. All very routine.”

That pretty much guarantees that the forms are
not
very routine, but I soothe myself as I sign by reminding myself I’m not signing my own name, so they can’t possibly be binding.

“Excellent. Now Spirit Bitsy can take you to get changed.”

We rise from the from the table, and although I didn’t see him press any kind of button or alert her in any way, Spirit Bitsy the Sunflower is right there when he opens the door.

“This is it, Spirit Charlotte!” she bubbles. “The beginning of your new life. Let’s go.”

As she leads me over hardwood floors and under wrought-iron chandeliers, I ask if everyone working at Transitions has transitioned themselves.

“Oh, yes. Spirit Burnham has a beautiful story of how he made his transition. I’m sure you’ll hear it; it’s very inspirational.”

I’m sure it is. “How about you?”

“Before I worked here, I was a transitioner just like you. This body was born with the sprit of Anna, but she couldn’t handle living with the difficulties it entailed.” She holds up her clawed
hands. “Sprit Bitsy was more than happy to work within those confines, and we’ve both been happier since I’ve walked in.”

“You’ve both been happier?” I ask. “You’ve been in touch with Sprit Anna?”

“Oh, no. But I know how badly she wanted to move on, and I’m sure she’s now at peace.”

Spirit Bitsy reaches into her pocket with her clawlike hands to fetch a key card, which she presses against a panel. An unmarked door springs open to reveal the most unassuming room I’ve seen yet at Transitions. While the carpet is a luxurious deep pile in an unfortunate shade of baby blue, the room itself holds nothing more than a mirror, a dresser with a shelving unit, and a dress rack. No windows. The shelves are filled with women’s flats, all in the exact same shade of blue as the carpet. On the dress rack are six simple sundresses, all that same blue, all the same shape, though they range in size from super petite to extra large.

“The first step in easing Sprit Krysta’s way is to give her a blank slate. Spirit Charlotte has been entrenched in this body a long time. Everything about it—the clothes you wear, your accessories, even everything in your wallet—it’s all tied to
Spirit Charlotte. So I’ll need you to hand over all your possessions, then get changed into whichever dress and shoes fit you best. There are underpants, brassieres, and socks in the drawers. Once we know your sizes, we can stock your closet.”

She says this like it’s the simplest thing in the world, but there are so many indignities stuffed inside, I don’t know where to begin.

“Hand over all my possessions?”

“They belong to Spirit Charlotte. We’ll keep them safe, and when Sprit Krysta emerges, she can decide what to do with them.”

Unease curdles my stomach. It’s not like I’ll be turning over a lot. Knowing I’d be undercover, I don’t have much with me. My ID, credit cards, and anything else with my name on it is in the glove compartment of our rental car. The only things I brought in my purse were a lip gloss, the black AmEx I already turned over, and my cell phone.

It’s losing the cell phone that makes me nauseous. It feels like throwing away my only key to that locked front door—a door “Spirit Burnham” will want to keep closed so he can drain Mr. Steczynski’s credit card as much as possible.

To calm me, I think about Sage and let his face
fill my mind. Amazingly, it’s his new face I see, not the one I used to know. It’s the face I want to be with the rest of my life, and that can’t happen unless I find whatever secrets this place might hold.

I give my whole purse to Spirit Bitsy, then at her direction I turn out my pockets so she can see there’s nothing there. “I’m sorry if it seems draconian,” she says sweetly, “but even the smallest link to Spirit Charlotte can hamper the transition process.”