Wander Dust (19 page)

“Oh, it wasn’t. I just read a lot. I’m kind of a nerdy bookworm, really. Besides, I had to keep myself entertained somehow before you decided to join us. It took you forever, you know.”

“Sorry.” And I am. I’ve missed out on so much.

“I’m glad you finally figured it out.” His eyes squint in upside down smiles, the shape accentuated by the dark fringe of his lashes.

“Me too.” I drop my gaze to the stone street as we begin to walk.

“What part of Great Britain are you from?”

“Chelsea—London. I live in a lovely red, brick home with my dad.”

“And your mom?”

“Occasionally. She travels for work quite a bit.”

“Yeah, mine too—I mean my dad. Brother and sisters?”

“Yes, one of each. Charlotte, who’s thirteen.”
She’s the same age as Sam. He always seems to look after Sam like a little sister. Now their relationship makes sense.
He pauses as though considering his words carefully. “And also Turner, who’s my fraternal twin.” His lips purse.

I take a double glance at him, but he keeps his focus forward. “Your twin? I mean,” I’m desperately trying not to sound too surprised or too interested in his duplicate brother, so, I ask about both siblings. “I mean, are they both at the Academy?”

“Charlotte, no. We aren’t positive if she will yet, but it would be easier for all of us if she did. And Turner, yes.”

“I never see you with him.” Not that I see Bishop that much outside of class, but when I do, I pay attention.

“I guess you could blame that on sibling rivalry.” He smiles, but his eyes avoid me. His gaze immediately drifts to a vaporetto sloshing past in the murky green waters of the Grand Canal. It’s crammed with at least a hundred tourists snapping pictures of us as they pass.

“Hmph.” I want to know more about his brother, but his expression gives me the vibe that the Turner topic might be off limits. This gives me another thought. What if Turner is the boy in the picture with him, the half that had been chopped off before being mailed to me. I want to ask about it and also the Grungy Gang, but have a feeling both might kill the mood. After all this time, we’re finally talking. Not about team stuff here and there, but about normal stuff. It’s so wonderful, I can’t bear to taint it with something negative. So I let both thoughts go. For now, anyway.

“And yourself, brothers or sisters?” He’s hesitant in asking, and I’m not exactly sure why.

“Nope, just lonely me.”

We turn off the promenade and onto a large wooden bridge that arches over the Grand Canal. We pause at the top. I lean over the railing to watch a red gondola glide underneath. A man stands in the back playing an accordion while singing. I look up at the view. The canal is lined with gorgeous buildings. They look as though they’re about to crumble into the water from age, but I know they aren’t going anywhere. They’ve been here forever. The scene is glorious and serene, a perfect time capsule of Italian beauty.

We walk on, enjoying the sights in a comfortable silence. Our hands brush each other’s accidentally on a few occasions. The contact sends trembles and tingles through my arm, almost rendering it useless.

I step away from Bishop to distance myself. I would never steal a boy from anyone, even someone I don’t like. I tie my mask relic to my dress with a loose ribbon and cross my arms to avoid any further touching.

When we arrive at the Rialto Bridge, the sun sits much lower in the sky. The street lamps flicker orange light within their glass lanterns.

“Do you want to take a gondola back?” he asks.

“That’s a good idea because, to be honest, these shoes are killing my feet.” I lift the hem of my dress, revealing a pair of blue satin heels with fancy silver buckles.

“Not exactly walking shoes, are they?” he asks with his fingers draped across his chin as he inspects them.

“Not at all, but you know how particular Gabe is about fashion.”

“I believe I do; I’m wearing tights, after all. Not my first choice for an outfit.” He laughs.

We step out onto a small pier surrounded by red and white striped pillars. They remind me of peppermint sticks. Several docked gondolas clang against them, sloshing green water around.

A smiling gondolier, named Auturo, in a black and white striped shirt, and a broad rimmed black hat, grabs my hand, helping me into the vessel. I sit. Then Bishop, right next to me. I lean away, trying not to let our shoulders touch.

Our creaking boat drifts up and down several canals. Bishop gives me a complete lesson of each building’s architectural significance and history. Some of it I know, which I’m sure he realizes, but I let him continue without interruption because I enjoy the velvety sound of his voice.

The setting sun splashes glowing hues of pink and orange across the sky like a watercolor painting. The colors are romantic and beautiful.

“Now, this is a nice one up here.” Bishop points to an enclosed limestone bridge, high above the water, hanging between two solid buildings.

“It doesn’t look very nice. There are bars on the windows,” I say.

“It’s special, The Bridge of Sighs,” he says as he leans a little closer. His voice lightens, as though he’s about to tell me a secret. “Venetian legend states that you will be bestowed everlasting love if you share a kiss with someone in a gondola at sunset while underneath the bridge.”

My breathing hitches in my throat. His words linger in the air for a moment like balloons. When they pop, the shock momentarily paralyzes me. After a moment, I turn to face him in confusion. His perfect, ocean green eyes gaze expectantly into mine. He leans into me, our foreheads touch, and I realize we’re both breathing heavily.

“You are so breathtaking,” he says in a delicate whisper. Gently, he grazes the back of his fingers across my cheek. His hand is soft and soothing. Then his palm slips behind my ear and cups my neck. His other hand follows. He hesitates as though he’s waiting for permission to be closer.

The seductive scent of his aftershave swirls around me, pulling me into him. Our noses meet. They slip back and forth over each other’s, and I can feel his warm breath on my face, my lips, taste it on my tongue. I think of our lips finally meeting, trembling, and burning on impact. I’ve been dreaming about it since the first moment I saw him. With all my heart I want to kiss him. So, I finally react. But not in the way I want to.

I stand up.

I inhale every last ounce of air that my lungs will allow, and I jump, without thought, from the gondola to a nearby pier.

“Sera!” Bishop reacts immediately. “What are you doing? Are you mad?”

“I can’t do this!” I yell back at him without looking, as I steady my footing on the rickety pier. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Resisting one of the things I want most—him.

I quickly tuck my head into the low doorway and find myself in a dark elegant dining room. I run out the front door of what appears to be a hotel and into a courtyard. I turn in confusion a few times and eventually find my way to a corridor and keep running until I can’t run anymore. I need to be alone with my thoughts.

I’m several streets away, hidden up against a wall in an alley when Bishop runs past, yelling my name.
If Sam wants drama, she’s getting it.

When his voice evaporates into the labyrinth of buildings, I somberly stroll the other direction. Stepping into masquerade shops along the route helps to release my mind of the tension and guilt. I’m positive I’ve done everything within my power
not
to give those kinds of signals. Everything but giving him up in my mind completely, which seems impossible, like breathing without air.

I step up to an Italian pastry shop, admiring the sweet confections on the other side of the store window. A reflection from behind scares me. I turn and halt in an instant.

A person, hidden behind a gold mask stands inches away from my face. Their body is draped, head to toe, in a shimmering gold cloak. Before I can react, the figure grabs my hand with their velvet black glove and shoves an object into my palm, closing my fingertips tightly around it.

Clasping their hands around mine, the figure speaks beautifully, in a rich, Italian accent. “Reassemble this, and it will guide you to your heart’s desire.”

I stand confused, looking at the golden silhouette.

“Who are you?”

“A friend,” she says. She juts her head around, scanning the crowd. “Tell no one,” she says hastily then takes off running.

::26::
Chasing Answers

The golden cloak disappears into a sea of costumes and into the fading darkness.

I unclench my hand.

There in my palm, sits the one thing I hold dear, even though the item had not been with me long. I glare at it, overwhelmed with having it back, the birthday gift Ray gave me months ago—my mom’s bracelet. The square emerald glistens under the street lamps.

I clutch the bracelet to my chest and sob from sheer happiness. I’ll see Mom again. Soon. This will take me where I desperately want to go.

After I tuck the relic into my corset, Bishop appears, weaving quickly through the crowd toward me. I wipe my tears with my fingers and wait for him to catch up.

A confrontation will start immediately. He’ll be confused, but he should understand. He’s very taken. I can’t be
that
girl. The one that just takes, not considering others’ feelings. Even if that someone is Perpetua.

Bishop doesn’t slow when he approaches. Fear veils his eyes. “Sera! Run!” he yells over the buzz of the crowd.

I don’t ask why; I just do. I clutch the mask relic in my hand, readying to make the transition, but as he catches up to me, I realize we’ll never be able to gain enough speed to wander. Too many people crowd the narrow streets.

A gigantic booming sound rocks the city. It rattles me to the core, and I stop, confused, to see what has happened.

“Fireworks!” Bishop yells. He grabs my hand and yanks me forward.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“The Underground. They’re back!”

“The who?”

“Underground,” he says again as we weave in and out of the bodies. “The gang chasing you last week.”

I gasp, “They have a name?” My mind whirls, but I keep moving. I knew I should have asked him about them earlier. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew who they were?”

“Not now, Sera!”

Bishop recklessly steers me around a corner. When we turn, I look back, catching a glimpse of them. All four disgusting shapes are hot on our tracks. Somehow, they navigate the crowd faster than us.

Boom!

Crackle!

Fireworks light up the night sky. People halt in mobs to watch the beautiful lighting display, making maneuvering around them impossible. They unknowingly stand like statues, guarding every entrance and exit.

“We’ll never be able to leave with all these people!” I yell over the applause.

“The bell tower in
Piazza San Marco
!” he yells back.

We bolt around another corner. The city walls disappear and open into the expansive piazza of
San Marco
. But still, there’s not enough room to run. Too many tourists linger.

My eyes shoot to the tower, and his last words click. “No! Are you crazy?!” All can devise is that Bishop plans to jump from the top of the bell tower, just as we did last week in Team Tactics. I can’t do it. I won’t. There’s no pool as a backup. No bungee chord to save us. My mind seizes into paralyzing fear.

Another crash and explosion fills the sky in sparkling silver lights.

“No!” I scream again, pulling him in a new direction.

“It’s the only option.” He pulls back. “Hurry, Sera!” I give in and run with him. He’s stronger than me, and the Gang is closing in.

Rot and decaying garbage tweak my nostrils. I smell the Gang before I see them. When they come into view, I lock eyes with the leader. His familiar face twists with rage. He and his group push tourists to the ground instead of running around them. Everything near them singes into a puke green color. I imagine them drooling at the thought of finally killing me.

We slow as we reach the base of the tower. Bishop yanks at the doorknob, but it’s locked.

“Stand back!” he yells, pushing me to the side. Then, with one swift kick of his foot, he demolishes the ancient door. It falls off the hinges in pieces. Shards scatter at my feet.

“You first!” he yells over explosions and cheering crowds.

I dash up the steps, around and around in the dark enclosed space. A few times, I stumble, but keep moving by crawling until I can upright myself again. When we come to a landing at mid point, I start to take off my skirt.

“Sera, now is
hardly
the time!” Bishop yells, staring at me, confused.

“Quick! Kick out that window!” I point to a small void with shutters, nearby. He doesn’t question, he just trusts me.

I shimmy out of the hoop skirt. It hits the floor at the moment he kicks out a small shuttered window. A stream of moonlight bursts through, revealing our perfect getaway, a long stretch of flat, uninterrupted roofline.

The Gang pounds up the stairs behind us. Their steps echo and ricochet off the stone walls. They’re close—I can smell them again. But Bishop only stands rigid, staring at me in my undergarments. I try not to think about my lack of clothing. Instead, I run for the window.

“We’ll jump to the roof of the other building,” I say as I hoist myself out the tiny hole, one I would never fit through with a hoop skirt.

I crouch on the outside for a moment, digging my fingers in the crevices of loose mortar to steady myself. Trembling, I survey the massive jump I will have to take, about five feet across the air, and one hundred and fifty feet above Piazza
San Marco
. I hesitate.

“Jump, or we go to the top of the tower,” Bishop presses.

I turn my brain off and just do it. At the next firework explosion, I imagine the force catapulting me through the air, safely to the adjoining roof. It almost works. I catch the railing on the other side and dangle there.

“Bishop!” I scream, my legs kick beneath me, searching for a ledge to steady myself, but there’s nothing. My sweaty fingers are sliding off the marble banisters.

“Bishop!”

When I glance back over my shoulder, Bishop tosses my folded hoop skirt out the window. The fabric catches air and parachutes in a bubble toward the ground. He’s smart, discarding any relic that will allow the gang to come after me.

“Hold on, I’m coming!” he yells.

His silhouette flies over me. The ground of the roof pounds. Two strong hands wrap around my arms and drag me up and over the railing. We fall, entwined, onto the flat roof. The Grungy Gang appears in the bell tower window. The leader steadies himself for the jump. At the moment he is airborne, Bishop and I gather ourselves from the ground and take off running at full speed in the opposite direction. I clutch the mask relic with a keyword locked in my mind.

•

It’s easy enough to wander back to the piazza in Olde Town, but I don’t. Even though I’m not positive it will work, when I feel we’re close to landing, I push my thoughts a little further, reaching for a location nearby. We fall roughly onto the floor between two oversized bookshelves in the Relic Archives. As it turns out, the position of a landing can be manipulated.

“Blast, Sera! Where have you brought us?” Bishop sits up and looks around.

“Shh! Be quiet! I can’t tell you or you’ll tell Sam.”

“She’ll see it regardless, so you better hurry, whatever you’re doing.”

“Give me your jacket,” I say. He groans, shuffling out of it. Then he stands and takes his time to wrap it around me, making sure his arms linger around my back for longer than necessary. Our eyes meet with tension for a long moment, and then I step around him.

“Stay here and don’t move!” I whip around and command. He rolls his eyes and leans back on a shelf with his arms crossed. I can see he’s agitated with me. For our non-kiss? For bringing us here? Probably both.

I peek around the bookshelf toward the chattering. A class of students, using the relicutionist, are discussing their finds.

Dipping my fingers into my corset, I pull out the bracelet. Then I glance around the room, searching for the E.Y.E.S. Several blue, flashing lights hang from the ceiling. One camera rotates in my direction. I attempt to act normal, like I belong. But if Terease is back, she’ll know I’m up to no good. How fast will she get here when she sees me?

With clenched fists, I hug Bishop’s jacket tightly to my body to hide my lack of clothing. The students finish, and I amble toward the relicutionist, trying to act inconspicuous.

When I reach the machine, I open the glass lid and place Mom’s emerald bracelet on the velvet tray. I return the dome lid, latching it into place. On the ancient keypad, I type in the keyword: Eliza Parrish. With both hands, I crank the rusted lever toward me.

The ear-splitting contraption shakes violently. Steam spews out of the pipes that extrude from the top, and the oversized viewing tube fogs up. All the lights blink neon green. A lightning storm breaks out.

Students nearby start to notice that I don’t belong in their class. Someone points at me. I wonder if anyone will alert Mr. Matchimus.

Concerned, I will the machine to move faster. I place my hands on the viewing tube and lean in, looking for any trace of any image.

Furious clouds rip around the edges of the glass within the tube, forming a tornado. The severity increases as the seconds pass. The relic glows like fire, hovering over the velvet tray. I step back in anticipation of something. Anything. The relicutionist is taking longer than normal.

“It’s not working,” says the voice I love dearly. “Whatever you’re trying to find—it’s not there.” Bishop places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly.

“It is!” I smack the glass with my palm, fighting my tears. He’s wrong. He has to be.

“And she’s coming.” Bishop exhales. “Sam couldn’t stop her. Terease will be here in seconds. She’s back from wherever she’s been.” He revolves the lever, turning the machine off. Then he quickly removes the bracelet from the tray. We turn from the machine in just enough time to see Terease blast through the entrance, slamming the door into the stone wall.

“What’s happened?” Her blood red lips demand. She stomps across the plank floor. “Why have you left your group?” If the wandering concept holds true, the field trip arrived back at the same time, but in Olde Town.

Bishop steps in front of me. “The Underground, Terease. They’ve tracked Sera,” he attempts to justify our actions.

She hisses at the word. “The Underground,” she repeats. The name means something to them but not to me. She looks like she could kill someone, but before she lashes out, she inhales, closing her eyes and tries to calm herself.

“Come with me,” she snarls then turns to walk back out the door.

I can’t. I won’t follow her. She’ll lock me in this school and throw away the key. As far I know, Stu is still missing for his prank. Who knows what she’ll do to me for not reporting the Grungy Gang—Underground—whatever you want to call them.

I grab the bracelet from Bishop’s hand, and I take off in the opposite direction, sprinting between the rows of ancient bookshelves.

“Stop her!” Terease yells at the moment I fly forward, airborne through a cloud of wander dust.

I slide across campus, skipping into my dorm room. When the wormhole spits me out, I slam into my bed. Bishop lies behind me near the pillows, barely grasping the tails of his jacket, which I’m still wearing.

“Get off!” I yell at him, trying to kick his hands away. The lunch bell rings.

“Blast, Sera! You’re going to get us expelled!”

“Exactly! What were you thinking?” Sam walks in the room and slams the door.

“What are
you
doing here?” I stare at her.

“I’m here to help!” She stomps her foot.

I roll my eyes, “I doubt it!”

Ignoring them, I dart for the closet. I start ripping off my clothes then think better of it. “Turn around Bishop!”

He groans, but does as I ask.

I pull out a mishmash of clothes and put them on: a pair of jeans from the day that I arrived, a shirt I wore in the Relic Archives, a cardigan for Olde Town, the medallion necklace Mona gave me, sneakers from the west Academy, and several other relics to keep me connected with the ability to wander from spot to spot through history and true time.

“I’m done,” I say as I button my pants.

Bishop turns. “Sera, whatever is going on, we can figure this out as a team. I believe Terease can help!”

“No! Stu hasn’t shown up yet, and he only played a prank! What’s Terease going to do to me for not telling her about the Grungy...Underground?
Besides
, I’m on another mission.”

I start again, but I’m even more irritated now. “And that reminds me, you’ve been holding out on me! You knew who the Gang was and didn’t tell me!” I point at him.

“No, that’s not it—” His eyes snap toward the door. “Terease is coming.”

“She’ll be here in a minute,” Sam runs to the door, plants an ear on it and listens. They both must sense Terease with their abilities. No, they sense danger.

“You guys can’t help me with what I need to do.” I dart for the window, unlatch the lock, and slide the frame open. I lean out the opening and look down. My stomach turns.

“And what’s that,
exactly
?” Sam rushes up behind me, ready to pull me back.