Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (36 page)

And then it happened. One night, we were several blocks from the train station when the night sky filled with what looked like shooting stars. It was as impressive as fireworks, and impossible to miss. We exchanged incredulous glances and then broke into a run, making our way to the field behind the train station building where we saw that the light particles had fallen onto the field in a swirling pattern.

“A perfect Fibonacci spiral,” Jameson had said.

I walked the whole thing, starting on the outside of the spiral and going inward like Dorothy following the yellow brick road. The fragments of whatever it was (a meteor? something manmade?) sparkled and shimmered and gave off an energy that lifted my spirits and energized me. I leaned over and stroked them with my fingertips. They glowed with warmth, but weren’t hot.

“Don’t touch them,” Jameson called out sharply from across the field. “They might be radioactive.”

He and Mallory stayed off to the side, circling around the particles rather than walking through them. I was the only one who’d entered; clearly he’d thought I was an idiot for being so reckless.

When the particles stopped glowing, we reluctantly headed for home, still not sure what we’d seen. In the morning, there was nothing in the news about this event, and when we went back to the field, it had been scraped clean. That next morning, Mallory said we should keep this to ourselves and not even do online searches. She just had a feeling, I guess, and it turned out she was right. She did some digging in the local news archives and discovered that this had also happened about sixteen years before, and that the kids who reported seeing it disappeared or died. Around the same time, someone put up posters in local businesses, offering a reward to anyone who’d witnessed a strange astronomical event. There were other things too—men posing as FBI agents showing up around town asking questions. We didn’t know what they wanted, but we were pretty sure it wasn’t good.

And then, the next year, Mallory stopped home schooling and started attending the local high school. She wanted the authentic high school experience—going to dances and games, complaining about lunchroom food, decorating the inside of her locker. Jameson was irritated. He grumbled, “Why she’d want to lower herself to that level, I’ll never know.” But I understood. I wanted all that stuff too.

It was in her science class, almost a year after we’d witnessed the event that she noticed Russ Becker, the boy who sat behind her doodling in his notebook. She watched as he started with a spiral and then sketched the field and the train station before adding a drawing of himself, arms raised triumphantly in the air. That’s how she knew he’d seen it too. Within a short period of time, we’d sworn him to secrecy and added him to our little group.

Since Mallory already had dorky Jameson falling all over her, I mentally claimed Russ for myself. I knew we were unlikely to form a relationship, but when I started to astral project, I felt pulled to go to him, and he was receptive to my visits. Or at least that’s how it seemed. We talked nearly every night. I’d opened up to him—really bared my soul and he’d done the same. I think everyone wants someone just for themselves. A soul mate. That’s how I thought of us. But I guess when it comes right down to it, the reality is that the pretty girl is the desirable one, the one guys want their friends to see them with. And that’s just the way it is.

I decided I wouldn’t visit Russ every night or maybe ever again, unless he mentioned it. I didn’t want to be that annoying person who keeps showing up, clueless that they’re not wanted. But I would go to Mr. Specter’s house at midnight on Tuesday. I wanted to hear what this field trip to Peru was all about, even if I didn’t have any chance of going along.

I still wanted Russ to heal me. I desperately wanted Russ to heal me, but the timing had to be right. Maybe when the others noticed how much my scars had improved, I’d bring it up then.

Nadia

Sneaking out of the house just before midnight on Tuesday felt as familiar as brushing my teeth, but a lot more exciting. After not astral projecting for two days, I was going crazy being confined. I was more than ready to leave the walls of home behind me and get out in the world.

I hesitated for a moment when I got to Mr. Specter’s backyard. Mallory had said to go in the back door and down the stairs to the basement, which I was willing to do, except the house appeared strangely quiet and I wondered if I was in the right place. I watched the door for a few minutes and when I saw Rosie, the owner of the local diner, walk around from the front and go inside, I figured it was okay. She was part of this, according to Russ.

From the top of the basement stairs I heard Mallory’s laugh, which was reassuring. I wasn’t the first to arrive. I also got a whiff of buttered popcorn and heard the murmur of adult voices. I stopped at the bottom, intimidated by the number of people milling around, drinks in hand, like they were at a cocktail party. I recognized Kevin Adams, who ran the local comic book store, and Rosie. Without her waitress uniform, she looked strangely unlike herself. The other three had to be Russ and Mallory’s science teacher, Mr. Specter (wearing a sweater vest, just as I’d always heard him described); along with the high school lunch lady, Mrs. Whitehouse (Russ had said she was the most annoying woman on the planet); and lastly Dr. Anton, a psychiatrist Russ had seen for his sleeping disorder. All five of them, I knew from talking to Russ, had experienced seeing the lights when they were teenagers, and had acquired superpowers of their own. Now in their late forties, their powers had faded and gone.

Mallory was talking to Dr. Anton, but she stopped when she saw me standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Nadia,” she exclaimed, her arms spread wide. I let her pull me into an embrace and didn’t object when she pulled me over to meet the adults. Except for the lack of windows, this space gave no sign of being a basement. The walls were plastered white and the floor was covered with a plush beige carpet. We stood next to a seating area, a large U-shaped sectional sofa, and coffee table, with end tables on either side. Nothing out of the ordinary, if you didn’t count the fact that this was a secret midnight meeting of people who’d experienced miracles. Mallory made the introductions and I did my best to respond with the right words.

Social events are hard for me because I’m expected to look people in the eye. Difficult to do while still keeping my face under cover. I managed okay, though, greeting each one in turn. When it came time to meet Dr. Anton, he extended a hand. I paused for a moment but then went along with it. He didn’t shake it, but gave it a gentle squeeze, like he was comforting me. “Very nice to meet you, Nadia. Mallory has said good things about you.” His words were positive but the feeling I got wasn’t. One of my abilities, besides being able to astral project, was being able to read people. I got insights into their characters and knew when they were telling the truth. He was being truthful, he was glad to meet me, but there was something else there, some underlying negative twinge. I was just on the verge of reading what it was, but before I could really tell anything, he let go of my hand it and it was gone. Dr. Anton looked the part of a child psychiatrist: nice smile, goatee, and snappy bow tie, but I sensed something tortured beneath his professional exterior.

Before I had time to think about it, Russ and Jameson had arrived. Russ knew everyone, but Jameson didn’t so we went through another tedious round of introductions while Rosie poured glasses of lemonade and urged us to make ourselves comfortable on Mr. Specter’s large curved couch.

After the rest of us had been seated, Mr. Specter began. “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. I know it’s not easy to meet so late at night.”

“I don’t mind,” Kevin Adams said. “The darkness is my friend.” It was like something a character in a comic book would say, fitting since he owned Power House Comics and looked a little comic-bookish himself with his Elvis pompadour and superhero t-shirts. The rest of the adults chuckled.

I snuck a glance at Russ. I was the last one on the end of the couch, right next to him, but his gaze was on Mallory who sat opposite us. She didn’t seem aware of his attention at all. Typical, I guess. Love can be so one-sided.

Kevin added, “I can’t wait for the night time. I have my best thoughts after dark.” Russ had told me that Kevin Adam’s supernatural gift had been the ability to see right through things—X-ray vision. He’d used his talents to gamble his way to a small fortune, then came back to our hometown, Edgewood, to start his own business. Gambling seemed like a stupid use of an incredible ability to me. But people are going to do what they’re going to do. Logic and reason don’t seem to play into it all that much.

Mr. Specter directed his next bit to me and Jameson. “I’m not sure how much Russ and Mallory have told you two, so I’ll start from the beginning. The five of us—” he gestured to the other grown-ups, “were once in your shoes. We saw the same kind of astronomical event you four did, and afterward found that we’d acquired powers. We came to find out that unknown to the rest of the world, there are two secret organizations trying to wield control over those who have the powers. One of them, the Associates, is dangerous. Their desire for power, control, and money has no bounds. They’re ruthless and heartless and will stop at nothing to get what they want.” He paused for dramatic effect. I snuck a look at Jameson, who had a bored expression on his face. “Many of the problems in this world were caused by the Associates.”

Kevin Adams said, “Any time you hear about a riot or a war or a coup, you can betcha the Associates are behind it.” He grinned before taking a swig of lemonade.

“Don’t let this scare you, kids,” Rosie said, with motherly concern. “Most people in this world are generally good. The ones who are doing wrong are motivated by fear and anger and insecurity. That’s the important thing to remember.” Her talent had been reading people’s minds. I wondered about that. How much fear and anger and insecurity had she listened to over the years? Sometimes I got tired of hearing people’s voices. Hearing their thoughts was probably intriguing at first, but I was willing to bet it got old fast.

Mr. Specter continued. “I’m glad to be able to tell you that the Associates are not going unchecked. We’re part of the other group, the Praetorian Guard, sometimes known as the Guard. For many generations, the Guard has been keeping close tabs on the Associates, and counteracting their plans, when possible. We’re a smaller organization, but we have right on our side.”

“So what is it that you do?” Jameson leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. His white-blond hair stuck out from an oversized knit hat. In the indoor lighting, his pale skin looked almost luminous. Mallory had once asked if I’d thought he was good-looking. At the time I’d said no, but if we had the same discussion again I’d probably answer differently. I could see it now. With his coloring and fine features, he reminded me of a statue—an alabaster angel without the wings. He could be cold as a statue too, but maybe that wasn’t entirely his fault. His height and intelligence defined him. Feeling superior to others was all he had.

“Pardon me?” Mr. Specter pushed his glasses up his nose.

“You keep close tabs. You counteract their plans, when possible. But specifically, what have you done to keep this so-called evil organization in check?”

“Well...” Mr. Specter cleared his throat. As a high school science teacher, I’d have thought he was used to being challenged, but Jameson’s question seemed to have thrown him.

The room was silent until Mrs. Whitehouse said firmly, “Lots. We’ve done lots.” Of the five, she was the least impressive. She had a pillowy body, slouchy posture, pastel-colored clothing, and shoulder-length hair that looked like she cut it herself. The queen of frump. Still she spoke with authority. “Most of it we can’t tell you about, because it’s top secret, but the five of us have given up a lot in our lives to be part of this organization. We’re devoted to it and not because we want the glory, believe me. There is no glory. It’s just the right thing to do.”

Her words had a finality that didn’t make a bit of difference to Jameson, who was adversarial by nature. “Nice words, but a little short on real information. Personally, I like my answers less vague,” he said. “I’m assuming that you’re asking us to join the Praetorian Guard? You’re going to need a more convincing case to get me on your side.”

“Of course, of course,” Mr. Specter said soothingly. “Rest assured, no one is expecting anyone to blindly follow our lead. I think you’re getting a little ahead of things, though. If you just let me finish my explanation, we’ll take questions afterward.”

Jameson sat back, satisfied. Unlike me, he wasn’t afraid of conflict. I wasn’t going to just go along with the Guard either, but I didn’t see the point in antagonizing them. I was getting good readings off these people. They seemed sincere, and their lemonade was good. Plus, it looked like this would be my major social event for the month. I wanted it to be pleasant.

“Can I jump in here, Sam?” Dr. Anton asked, and when Mr. Specter nodded, he rose from the couch. Standing next to Mr. Specter, he addressed the rest of us. “I think we need to backtrack and explain a little more about the actual phenomenon. The light particles, as we call them, can’t be explained by modern science. They fall in a spiral pattern, they reoccur about every sixteen years, sometimes two years in a row, and they return to the same spot time after time. The individuals drawn to this spot are sixteen-years-old—give or take half a year—who’ve suffered from insomnia for months prior and feel compelled to walk outside. The adults in the surrounding communities feel more lethargic during this time, ensuring that they’re never awake to witness the event.”

“I can vouch for that one,” Rosie said. “I was living on Red Bull to get through my night shifts at the diner. Once or twice when the place was empty, I found myself dozing off in a booth.”

Russ raised his hand. “Why is it that the witnesses are always the same age, do you think?”