Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) (20 page)

When I finally went to sleep, I dreamed about the night my husband had left the island, when he’d been headed to the Gabon rain forest. We’d stood in the airport, holding each other. Saying good-bye was even harder than I’d
imagined. My throat tightened, as if I’d swallowed a stone, and I couldn’t speak above a whisper. I said all of the right words and yet I left out the most important ones.

As he walked onto the small runway, the wind caught his shirt, and it filled with air, snapping around him. I ran to him and caught his elbow. I could barely choke out the words. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be back in a month,” he said.

He kissed me. I thought of my nightmares, the toothed fish and flying shapes, and the stone in my throat grew into an avocado pit. Some part of me must have known what would happen. Why had I let him go?

Now Jude’s face was all around me. His smile, white and radiant, slightly amused. I could see him climbing out of the old claw-foot tub, his arms loaded with books.

I awoke in the shadowy bedroom, my hair webbed across my mouth, my heart thrashing. I turned, half expecting to find Jude beside me. My hand skimmed across the sheet and kept going.

LONGYEARBYEN, NORWAY

SVALBARD ISLANDS

Sunlight glanced off the rooftops as Vivi and I walked toward the Kaffee House, the world’s most northern coffee shop. She hadn’t mentioned Keats or Scotland—in fact, she seemed phlegmatic. Inge’s middle son, Henrik, trailed behind us, a high-powered rifle propped on his shoulder. No one in town seemed to notice, not even the chief of police, who smiled at Henrik and said, “
God morgen.
”

It was indeed a good morning. It was a bit chilly, thirty-four degrees, but we’d made it through the night, and nothing terrible had happened. Then I remembered what Raphael and I had almost done.

Vivi pushed ahead of me, weaving between people in fleece hats and ski jackets. It was Sunday, and the main
street was jammed with locals and tourists. Here on the Arctic frontier, it was easy to spot the residents because they carried guns. The Svalbardians were so rugged, they’d numbered their streets rather than giving them cutesy names.

I walked past a store that rented guns to tourists—it was illegal to walk beyond the town’s well-marked safety zones unless you had a firearm. You never knew when you might run into a polar bear. Like I needed more fangs in my life.

Daylight gleamed on Vivi’s razor-blade earrings as she ran up the steps to the café. She stepped past a sign that read L
EAVE
Y
OUR
G
UN
O
UTSIDE
. She opened the café’s door, and a bell rang above her head.

I was right behind her. The air smelled of cinnamon buns and coffee. I walked across the narrow room, toward red padded booths that ran along the windows. A counter stood on the back wall, and a family with stair-step blond boys had claimed the stools.

I sat down across from Vivi. Just outside the window, Henrik stood with his rifle, glancing down the street, his breath frosting the air. I unzipped a pale blue jacket that I’d borrowed from Inge. A waitress with a chipped tooth brought water and menus. Vivi and I ordered lattes and
krumkakes
. Then something crashed behind us, followed by a high-pitched cry.

The waitress hurried over to the family, and stepped over a puddle of hot chocolate and broken crockery. The mother was soothing one of the boys, wiping his hands with a napkin.

Vivi watched them a moment, and her lip jutted out
so far, a crow could have used it for a perch. She turned away, earrings clicking violently.

I slid my hand across the table and touched her hand. “Talk to me, Meep.”

“About what? Fjords? Glaciers?” She pulled away. “But you know what? At least no one in this town pretends to be normal.”

The waitress returned with our lattes and pastry. After she left, Vivi glared at me. “What kind of trouble is Raphael in?”

“He isn’t.” I glanced out the window. Gillian walked down the street in a puffer jacket that was identical to mine.

“Mom, look at me. Why are you defending Raphael?”

I dragged my gaze away from Gillian. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s done everything right.”

“Oh, that’s a good answer, Mom.” She leaned across the table. “Is he mind-controlling you?”

“Don’t be silly.” I felt queasy, and I pushed my mug aside.

“Whatever.” Vivi slumped down in her seat and tugged at her pink bangs. I studied her face. It was bland as a cabbage, but what was hidden behind those layers?

“Are you still having bad dreams?” I asked.

“Nope.” She took a sip of her latte.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

She shook her head, then pointed at my mug. “Your latte is getting cold.”

“I don’t want it. I’m feeling—” I broke off as a blinding pain gathered behind my eyes.

She held up one hand. “Mom, I know you’re trying to
help. But I’m not ready to talk. Okay? So just drink your latte.”

No, I didn’t want it. I was sick to my stomach. I gave Vivi a helpless look. Her face had turned purple, as if she were holding her breath. I saw my hand lift the mug and bring it to my mouth. I drank fast, as if I were swallowing a dirty river, nothing but silt and sour heat rushing to my belly. Finally the mug was empty. As I lowered it, a red drop slashed across the white rim. I reached up, patted my mouth, and my fingers skidded.

“Mom? You okay?”

I held out my hand. Blood.

Vivi started to whimper. She pulled napkins from the metal dispenser, then leaned across the table and pushed the thick wad into my hand. I pressed the tissues to my nose. In seconds, the paper felt soggy, and I heard something patter against the table. I pinched my nostrils and tipped back my head.

“Get ice,” I said in a clogged voice.

The Norwegian family began to whisper, and it was the strangest thing: Until now, I’d known only a few words of this language—
hallo, takk, God morgen
—but I suddenly understood what the mother was saying.

Don’t stare at the lady, Gunnar
, she was saying.
Yes, I know she’s bleeding. Turn around and finish your chocolate.

A few seconds later, I couldn’t understand her. I felt something wet and warm hit the back of my hand and curve around my wrist. I pressed the tissue under my nostrils. The cushion in my booth hissed as Vivi squeezed in next to me. She pressed a bag of ice against the bridge of my nose.

“Here’s fresh napkins, too,” she said, her voice shaking. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”

Why was she sorry? It wasn’t her fault. I swallowed, and my ears popped. I pressed the new tissues under my nose. The waitress came back and dragged a sponge over the table, leaving a beaded crimson swirl on the Formica.

“Are you all right, miss?” she asked.

I nodded, dimly aware that Vivi kept dipping a napkin in water, scrubbing the front of my jacket. A gust of floral perfume swept over the booth, then Gillian sat down across from me, her face pinched and white. “Honey, are you okay? Should I find a doctor?”

“It’s just a nosebleed,” Vivi said.

Gillian blinked at the bloody napkins. “It looks like a slaughterhouse.”

I dabbed my nose. “It’s stopped,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

Halfway to the red house, Vivi burst into gulping sobs. Gillian draped an arm around her. “Your mama is fine.”

“No,” Vivi said. “I wanted her to stop talking. I wanted her to drink her latte. I wanted it so bad. Then she started bleeding.”

“You didn’t cause it,” Gillian said, pulling her closer.

“But Mrs. MacLeod’s nose bled, too.”

“Honey, that’s why God made noses.”

Their voices seemed to come from the bottom of a glacier. Behind me, I heard Henrik’s boots crunching on the frozen gravel. I remembered how sick I’d felt in the café, and how much I hadn’t wanted to drink that latte. And yet, at the same time, I’d felt compelled to lift the mug. My mind and body had been disconnected.

I took a step, and the sky tilted. The sun flipped upside-down. Before I hit the ground, Henrik took my elbows.

“
Takk
,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” he said in English.

Vivi broke away from us and ran inside the house. Gillian helped me into the dark foyer and pulled off my stained jacket.

“Lord, it’s gloomy in here,” she said, groping for the coatrack.

I could see more than I wanted. Dark splotches covered the front of my sweater, as if someone had flung a glass of burgundy at me. Vivi wasn’t in the room, but her coat hung on the rack. Probably she’d gone to her room.

As I walked toward the stairs, I heard the jingle of Arrapato’s tags, and then Raphael got up from the sofa. His eyes widened when he saw my sweater. “What happened?”

“Nosebleed,” Gillian said. “Somehow Vivi got it into her head that she caused it. But it’s just the cold air. And all that traveling Caro’s been doing. Airplanes are notorious for drying out the sinuses.”

Raphael’s forehead wrinkled. “Would you mind if I talked to Caro alone?”

“Yes, I
do
mind,” she said. “I’ve been shot at, chased by assassins, and brought to a wasteland. I’m freezing my butt off,
and
I broke a fingernail.”

“I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Gillian. But I still need to talk to Caro.” He took my hand. “Let’s go to my room.”

The kitchen door opened, and Fielding’s head popped out. “Come here, Gillian. I made you a little something.”

Her gaze passed over him. “How little?”

“It’s hard to explain.” He winked.

“Just a second, shorty.” She turned to Raphael and wagged her finger in the air. “I’m not finished with you, mister. Lay one hand on Caro, and I’ll whip your ass.”

After Gillian walked to the kitchen, Raphael’s mouth quirked up at the corner, and the other edge slanted down, his signature I’ve-got-a-secret look.

I didn’t protest when he led me to his room. It was just like mine—white walls, window covered with blackout draperies, knotty pine furniture. Before he shut the door, Arrapato shot through and stared boldly up at his master.

“
Testa di merda
,” Raphael told the dog, and then both of them walked to the bathroom. A moment later I heard water running.

I stood next to the bed, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. A coppery tang rose up from my hands and sweater. Red crescents were packed beneath my fingernails. I wanted to plunge into a soapy tub, but I felt sure that Raphael wanted to talk about last night.

He came out of the bathroom holding a damp washcloth. He rubbed it gingerly over my upper lip. In seconds I was all caught up in his smell and the pressure of his fingertips beneath the rough, damp cloth. I gulped down a breath.

“Hold still,
mia cara
. I won’t bite.”

“A pity. One little nip, and you’d be flat on your back.” I snapped my fingers. “You’ll be gasping for air. It took Jude a long time to build resistence to my poisons.”

“I’m not worried.”

I put my hand on his cheek. His nostrils flared, and I
knew he could smell my blood. “This is serious,” I said, but I wasn’t referring to my tainted antigens. “I’m sorry about last night. I wish I could blame alcohol, but I can’t.”

“Mia cara—”

I lowered my hand. “We can’t let that happen again, Raphael.”

“I didn’t bring you to my room to seduce you,
mia cara
. I didn’t want Gillian to hear what I’m about to say.”

“We could’ve talked telepathically.”

“You’ve just had a nosebleed. Do you want a headache, too?” He put the washcloth in my hands. “Tell me what happened.”

I started with the latte and ended with the ice pack. When I finished, he said, “It’s not the cold air. Vivi might have caused it.”

I just stared. “How?”

“Hemakinesis.”

“What?”

“A telekinetic ability. It’s linked with Induction.”

“What’s that? I’m confused.” I sat down on the bed.

“Your grandfather could bend thoughts—that’s Induction. And sometimes he made people bleed—hemakinesis. These talents are rare. Without them he wouldn’t have survived the Albigensian Crusade.”