Wander Dust (10 page)

::14::
Extended Contemplation

“Oh no! You must stay! I’ve been designing your room for weeks, hoping you would join us! Your room—it’s the absolute pinnacle of my creative prowess!” Gabe acts frantic as though his hard work as an interior designer will go wasted.

My gaze is still on the boy—my stalker. He’s very carefully concealed where no one else will notice him in the darkness of the tunnel, but me. His face barely escapes the shadows. They conform to his face, accentuating the angular features of his chin. This time, he doesn’t smile at me. Shouldn’t he be happy that I’ve wandered? After all, that seemed to be the reason for our meeting in the first place. He wanted me to discover the truth about myself.

He looks down, casting his eyes away from me as though he wants to hide. I want to chase after him, to finally ask him everything I need to know. Can it only be one day since I’ve seen him? So much has happened since then.

“Sera?” Mona shakes me. “What’s wrong? Rethinking your decision to stay already?” she asks.

I turn my gaze to Mona, pretending to debate for a moment, but in seeing
him
here, I’ve already made up my mind. “Um,” I look back at the dark tunnel, but my British Stalker Boy is already gone.

“Sera!” Gabe squeals. He’s still waiting for me to answer. “Have you changed your mind?” His eyes plead, putting all puppies to shame.

“Um, yeah. I guess.” Two exuberant adults tackle me before I finish the sentence.

•

Normally, I over analyze everything. For some reason, the moment Gabe and Mona pushed me for an answer, I felt compelled to give in, to know more. I abandoned my typical extended contemplation to have all the answers. After all, wasn’t that what I resolved to do last night? Find all the answers?

Will it really matter if I stay at the dorm or a few blocks away with Mona? Mona will be nearby, and I suppose, if I hate my new accommodations, I can change my mind. Besides, I cannot deny my piqued interest after my special Academy tour today. I tell myself that the appearance of British Stalker Boy has nothing do with my decision to move to school. It’s not a complete lie. I’m curious about the other students. Curious about what I am, and who the people on my list of weird and unknown are. Most importantly, I want to feel closer to my mom. If this is what it will take to find her, then I want to throw myself into it all headfirst. This is the mission I set for myself, after all.

Being a Wanderer can’t be too terrible. Haven’t I always known that I’m different, never quite fitting in anywhere? Maybe this is what I’ve been looking for since I moved here. I’ve had a nagging suspicion that I’m here for some reason. This must be it. How can anything be more important?

•

Mona insisted on taking me shopping for a new outfit for Gabe’s “Saturday Night Soirée.” That’s what he called it, anyway.

Upon handing me the gold invitation, Gabe took his time explaining the intricate color scheme and the artwork he’d chosen. Then he ever so humbly promised it would be “the event of the year!”

Now I have to find an outfit for such an event. I’m not exactly sure what that entails. I think anything that looks like it just came off the runway in Paris will work. But that’s just an educated guess based on Gabe’s outfit today.

Unsure, I roam from rack to rack, picking items up, turning them over, and then placing them back. Nothing seems cool enough. For once in my life, I’m not in the mood to shop. I’m not sure this has ever happened, but I know it’s because I have too much on my mind.

I’m dreading a phone call to Ray this afternoon. I will have to lie to him from now on. Even though I’ve done it a million times before, this is actually something I would like to share with him. I’m a Wanderer, Dad, a time traveler. Maybe he’d be proud that I’m special, different, and important.

Luckily, Mona has already formulated a plan for what we will tell him. She will explain to Ray that I’m doing so well in my studies that the Academy has offered me admission to their prestigious boarding school on the same campus. He will be thrilled and probably proud of at least this—for a little while.

I glare out the large, glass window. Through the reflections of passing taxis and pedestrians, I can see Mona. She’s in the bookstore in the next building. There’s a large sign hanging over her that says travel. She’s engrossed in a book.

I think she left me alone on purpose, for which I appreciate. It gives me time to think and process all that I’ve seen today, if that’s even possible.

The underground city of Olde Town, the colors and warmth of it, now seem like a dream. The pencil—the lions—I just don’t even want to think about them. I think it’s because those things are tangible proof that I will be part of a world where the impossible exists.

By now, I should be able to handle it. I’ve already experienced many unexplainable things for myself. I even convinced myself that I was going crazy. Now, I need to accept that I’m just not a Normal.

With a deep sigh, I let go of everything I’ve ever held true in my existence and tell myself there are no boundaries in my new world. No boundaries to hold me to any preconditioned laws. I’m limitless.

My mind drifts. I think of my dream between the field and the desert, and I think of my fireflies. I find a strange peace in remembering them funneling around me, absorbing me into their world.

When Mona returns, I’ve accepted my new life, settled on a new jacket, top, skirt, and chosen a pair of shoes, just in case she is feeling extra generous. Happily, she is.

•

As a favor, Mona takes me to Mom’s favorite pizza joint, Louis Gaurino’s Pizzeria. As Ray promised, the restaurant sits only a few blocks from the Academy. I dump a pile of grated Parmesan on my pie, reveling in the moment.

The pizza is so deep, I need a fork and knife to eat it. I take the first bite. It’s so hot that I burn my tongue. Now the rest of the meal will be ruined by my lifeless taste buds. Of what I can taste, the pizza is delicious. Fresh tomatoes explode in my mouth. The crust, more pastry than dough, melts on my tongue.

I might have to choke out the words to admit that Ray’s right about something. I consider that this could be the best pizza on the face of the earth. Still skeptical, I decide that I’ll have to try it again, on another day with fully functioning taste buds, before I admit defeat.

“So, what are your thoughts about everything?” Mona doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

Immediately, I want to ask her about the day I hid behind the bushes, the day British Stalker Boy lead me to with his note. Who were the rest of the people she spoke about on the phone that I added to my list of weird and unknowns, Max and CC? Something tells me I wasn’t supposed to be there that day, to overhear what she said. I keep these questions to myself, hoping the answers will quickly reveal themselves on their own.

“Um, I’m not completely sure about everything yet. It’s so—unreal. You know what I mean?” I say instead.

“Yes, of course. It’ll take some time.” She takes a swig of water.

I take another bite. “What’s with the lions?” I hedge with a mouth full of food.

“They’re, what we call, Animates. The lion gate protects Olde Town.”

I gulp. It seems impossible that a pair of rusted mechanical lions can be as dangerous as the real things, but they are pretty scary. “Has anyone
not
made it across the bridge?” I ask.

“A few,” she says, unconcerned. She dishes herself a second slice.

“And the pencil?” I hope it won’t make her mad that I ask about it again, but how can I not?

“Well, Samantha is a Seer, as you know. She sees the history of inanimate objects. We call that history a life path and the inanimate object a relic. Anything without life can be a relic. For instance, a pencil or this salt shaker. But not a human, bug, or plant—you see?”

I nod. “But the floating?” my voice trails off.

“When a Seer engages an object with their minds, their concentrated thoughts suspend the relic in the air. It helps to separate the item from other energies in the room that may interfere. It simply helps to see better.” My eyes widen, remembering the pencil hovering through the air.

“Here, I’ll show you again,” she says and looks around the restaurant. “Tell me if someone walks this way.” She pushes her plate and utensils to the side, next to the hot pepper flakes and sugar.

I nod as I chew.

She pulls out a plum colored, velvet pouch, releases the drawstring, and pours the contents into the palm of her hand. She lifts her hand and lets a long chain drop from her fingers. It falls straight and slack. At the end hangs a bronze medallion. She lets me inspect the necklace for a moment as though she’s preparing to perform a magic trick.

She allows the chain to rest, jumbled, on the surface of the shellacked table.

“Remember, if anyone approaches,” she says with a pointing finger.

I nod once more.

Then she begins.

::15::
Legends

She closes her eyes, then rolls her head slowly several times. Her body jiggles in her seat, bones crack, and her shoulders fall relaxed. Even the corners of her mouth turn down. When all her muscles are tranquil, she cups her hands over the bronze necklace.

The chain lifts delicately, meandering through the air until it finds a position parallel to Mona’s face. Center stage, the ballet begins between the chain and medallion. Together, they dance through the air. I’m so captivated by the beauty of its graceful motions. I hold my breath in long intervals, only inhaling and exhaling when I can’t stand the lack of oxygen any longer.

The edges of the chain glimmer, catching specs of winter sunlight from a nearby window. A glare radiates from within the object. It begins ever so slightly and becomes more concentrated as Mona’s fingers continue to massage the air around it.

The length of the chain toils in the warmth of the light for several more moments. I sit, hypnotized. Mona’s eyes are still shut in contemplation. Every few seconds, her eyebrows, forehead, and mouth wrinkle and crease as though she’s being told a story. I suppose she’s seeing the “life path,” as she calls it.

A door crashes open next to us. I jump, reach across the table, and swipe the chain from the air. Mona’s shoulders thrust forward as though someone has attacked her from behind. Her eyes fly open, and she gasps for air. I realize I reacted too quickly, forgetting to consider the consequences, but she nods as she coughs, signaling that she’s okay.

I jerk my head to the door that now sits open next to our table. My heart knots in my chest.
Did they see something?

Very unceremoniously, a wrinkled man rolls a large container of ice through the door. He’s oblivious to us. Mona and I both exhale. Nervous energy makes me laugh.

Curious, the man looks over at us with the droopy eyes of a bloodhound. He smiles with a mouth vacant of teeth, then he waves, mumbles something in Italian, and continues on his errand.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that here,” Mona chides herself as though it was careless, but I don’t care.

“It was,” words escape me for a moment, “amazing!” I hand back the necklace. I’ve held it so tight in my grasp, the medallion’s shape has imprinted itself in my palm.

“I thought you said you couldn’t do whatever it is you do anymore?” I wave my hand around, trying to conjure the words.

“It’s only a partial capability now. But more importantly,” she holds up the necklace, “I want to give this to you,” she says.

“Oh!” I take the necklace back and study the medallion for a moment. The square shape has a miniature sculpture of an obelisk with the sun’s rays behind it. A braided border wraps the edges. I look closer, reading the hand etched inscription. “Tempus Rerum Imperator,” I say the words out loud. “It’s the same saying as the words engraved on the front of the school.”

“Really? I never noticed that. Here, let me see.” Mona extends her hand. I hand back the necklace.

She pulls out her reading glasses and flicks wispy curls away from her face as she slides the frames onto her ears. Her eyebrows pinch together, and then she mumbles the words out loud.

“Interesting,” she says then hands it back to me. “I didn’t have a chance to search that far back into its life path before we were interrupted.” She packs away her glasses into her handbag.

“What did you see, exactly?”

“Not very much. I saw myself pulling it out of my safe this morning. It takes a little bit longer to get going, now that I rarely use my gifts.” She smiles, but her eyes flash with sadness. I don’t press the subject any further.

“Well, thanks,” I say. “It’s really cool. I love it.” I drop the chain over my head, letting it rest on my neck. It’s heavier than I expected.

I pick up the medallion from my shirt and look at it again, upside down. “What’s the deal with the obelisk? You said it’s a symbol of our people?”

Mona organizes her space, returning the plate, napkin, and utensils front and center, so she can begin to eat again. “We have many legends, the same as any other culture.” She swings her fork around. “But one of our earliest and most interesting date back to the time of the Pharaohs in Egypt. It starts with a King named Unika. He was new to the throne. The former King, his older brother, Osaze, had unexpectedly passed from illness.”

“Unika watched his brother’s reign for years and became saddened by the decline of the kingdom under his rule. The grain fields especially disheartened him. They had grown barren. It was, at one point, the crown of their dynasty under the reign of his great grandfather.”

“In an effort to please the gods, and perhaps to obtain some of their former glory, Unika ordered his architect to construct a massive pillar, an obelisk, right in the middle of his barren fields. He called the structure his petrified sunray and encased it with an inch of pure gold. Unika believed it would enchant the sun god, Amun-Ra, so much that he would be rewarded with fruitful harvests for his kingdom.”

“But with all that, after much time, there was no gift from the gods and no grain to fill their baskets.”

“Unika was not discouraged. He knew in his heart that Amun-Ra would honor him for his golden memorial.”

“Every day he visited the monument, leaving offerings of lamb, incense, gemstones, as did other people. The obelisk was so massive and beautiful, travelers from everywhere came to stand, awestruck, in its beauty.”

“Finally, one day, Unika awoke from a late morning slumber and immediately ordered his guard to take him to the fields.”

“When he arrived, he walked toward the obelisk and right into its shadow as the sun moved directly overhead, at its highest point in the sky.”

“The guards looked on in disbelief. Unika shimmered into dust and disappeared right before their eyes.”

“He was a Wanderer!” I interrupt. Mona acknowledges the comment with a nod as she slices off a piece of pizza and tosses it in her mouth.

She finishes chewing and begins again. “As you can imagine, the guards were in a panic. They would be implemented in the disappearance of their King. They were very distressed, but not for long because in the very next instant Unika returned.”

“The King did not explain his absence as the guards had hoped, and they did not press him. Instead, he ordered a meeting of his highest council by the Nile River’s edge.”

“That evening, under a cloudless, star-lit sky, fiery torches encircled the King and the high-officials. The officials were very concerned by the unorthodox nature of their meeting place and listened skeptically to Unika’s story.”

“He proclaimed that while he slumbered that morning, he had a vision from Amun-Ra. The god requested that he return to the obelisk at the sun’s highest point in the sky and walk into its shadow.”

“Unika explained that when he did, the earth bowed to him, and he was greeted by Amun-Ra himself. Together they admired his fields, not barren, but filled with plentiful harvests.”

“We believe he wandered to the time of his great grandfather’s reign,” Mona interrupts the story with her opinion.

“Then what?” I ask.

“Well, Amun-Ra simply explained how he could acquire the vision of a bountiful crop. Unika illustrated to his high council that if they could redirect the flow of the Nile to nourish the fields, the grain would grow again.”

“This was, of course, a primeval irrigation system. The King’s will was so strong that the council could not ignore the truth in his unwavering eyes. And so, the council immediately employed the plan. As promised, the crops became the crown of his reign.”

“Wow!” I say and take a sip of water.

“Yes, it’s quite a good story, isn’t it?”

“So, has anyone ever wandered back to see if it’s true?”

“Excellent question, but the answer is no. The stronger and more experienced you are as a Wanderer, the farther back in time you can travel. Assuming you have the correct relic to take you where you wish to go. So, no. No one to my knowledge is skilled enough or has attempted. It could kill you if you fail.”

“That’s really—serious and sort-of dangerous. You didn’t tell me this is going to be life threatening, Mona.” I laugh a little, but when she doesn’t, I realize she isn’t joking.

“Well, it shouldn’t be dangerous as long as you stick to your studies in school. That’s why I asked you not to wander on your own. It really requires quite a bit of supervision in the beginning.”

“Uh—okay.” But I don’t feel any better.

“Yes, well, I’m quite surprised you wandered as far back as you claim. And with no supervision!” she gawks, shaking her head.

“I suppose it came to be because you have such an unwavering connection to your mother,” she offers a reason for my unusual trip.

“I guess,” I mutter, but at this moment I’m only concerned about making it out of high school—alive.

“You will be able to identify others by the obelisk symbol. It’s how we recognize our kind. Some wear it as jewelry or even a tattoo,” she shifts her thoughts. “But please, don’t get a tattoo!”

“You’re starting to sound like Ray!” I laugh.

“Good, I suppose my parental instincts are finally kicking in,” she says with a giggle.

•

I pull several tugs of mascara through my lashes, making them thick and black. Then I stroke my eyelids with silvery blue shadow. My final makeup touch is enhancing two beauty marks under my right eye with a thin, black eyeliner stick. Maddi always said that Marilyn Monroe would be jealous of them, if she had ever seen them for herself.

I’m not really sure what to expect at Gabe’s party, but since it’s supposed to be the “event of the year,” I have high expectations.

When I walk down the stairs to the second floor and into Mona’s room, she’s lounging across her bed, engrossed in a book. Her evening cup of tea sits on her night stand. Her room, unlike the rest of the house, has a focused style. Fresh, white walls and furniture, along with cabbage roses in full blooms of pink, cover the bedspread. The room is so feminine and lovely, it reminds me of an English garden.

“Well, don’t you look simply beautiful!” she proclaims and rests her novel on her knees. “I wish that I had your fashion sense,” she says, gesturing to herself with her free hand.

“I think I get it from you,” I compliment. She does, in fact, wear the most gorgeous clothes. Some so exotic, they remind me of the interiors of her home.

I walk over and lean in to give her a hug.

“Make sure you’re home at a decent hour and—” she points her finger at me for emphasis, “walk straight to and from school. No messing about the city—all right?”

“Wow,” I say. “You’re a natural at parenting—bravo!” I clap my hands, moving them around in a circle. She bows her head, rolling her hand through the air, accepting the round of applause.

“Thanks, darling. Have fun!” She blows me a kiss as I exit the room.

Locking the front door behind me, I realize there’s something freeing about leaving the house on my own to attend a party. It’s my first, but Mona doesn’t know it, and I would never admit it to anyone else. Ray would never trust me the way she does. Not that I have ever lived anywhere long enough to attend a school function or even a regular party, for that matter. I walk a little taller, feeling a tad more adult than I had yesterday as I cross Mona’s front yard to the sidewalk.

Mona’s road is dark and quiet, but close enough to see the mayhem of the nearby, busier city streets. When I turn the corner to another dark street, the courtyard of the Academy sits a few blocks away. A deep cavern of buildings surround it. The obelisk, lit-up with lights, makes the slender shape glow against the black sky.

Wind whips under my skirt. My tights are no protection against the frigid air, so I burrow deeper into my new velvet jacket, slightly remorseful for not wearing something more substantial. If I freeze to death, I just have to remember it’s for the sake of fashion.

I walk for a block, not paying much attention to my surroundings. I’ve seen them every other day before, using the exact same route to school, but this time it’s night, and I’m alone.

Gray swirls of frosty air whirl around my face. It chills my nose and lungs from the inside out. My entire body is tense and rigid from the cold. I wonder if sitting on a block of ice in a bathing suit would be warmer.
Probably
.

The thought makes me dig my hands a little deeper into my pockets. The front of my jacket pulls taut; my knuckles bulge through the fabric. I squinch my shoulders up to my ears and strut as fast as possible.

Two more blocks to go.

Maybe it’s instinct. Or maybe I hear something. I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I glance back over my shoulder. When I do, a shadow of a person appears half a block behind me.

This instantly gives me a bad feeling.

I pick up the pace, and my heart rate accelerates. I peek back again, hoping I’ve built distance between myself and my new unwanted buddy.

But now—there are three shadows.

Their forms are not completely solidified. Sparkling particles settle into the shapes of their bodies. As they move, they mold and reform with the shadows of the night, avoiding all street lamps. They take long strides forward.

I’m positive it’s the Grungy Gang.

After I blink once more—there are four people.

I gasp.

The same short, dark hair boy leads the group. Their clothes are non-distinct, the color of dirt and darkness. Their aura’s reek of hate. It rolls off them in putrid colored waves, scorching everything as they pass. If I were close enough, I know they would stink of rotting garbage.

In a panic, I scan the street. To one side stands a wall of interlocking four story homes. On the other, a solid wall of plowed snow, five feet high, and a row of parked cars behind it. Neither direction is a viable escape. There’s only one direction to run—straight to the Academy. The Grungy Gang has planned its interception well.