Intuition (25 page)

“Good. Take a couple and let's go into the other room. I promise I'll keep you away from the windows.”

I can feel Drew's hand hovering over the small of my back as he leads me into the living room, but he doesn't actually touch me. I'm a little annoyed that I even notice.

“So, we've been missing you lately,” a blond woman says to Drew, pulling him to the side. “You've been hiding yourself away.”

A guy standing with her nods in my direction. “And now I see why.” I can tell they're both a little drunk already.

“I've been busy,” Drew says, smiling at me.

“Too busy for your oldest friends?” The woman pouts at him and then turns to me, waving her hand lazily. “Drew and I spent many years in Paris together.” She leans down and stage-whispers, “Not this time. A time before.” She leans back, tilting her head toward the ceiling. “Oh, the salons in the Saint-Germaindes-Prés. Late nights at Chez Ma Cousine. Paris in the twenties was really something to see. It would have been a shame to miss it.” She glances at me. “Or did you miss it?”

“I don't know.” In the Clarissa lifetime I would have been in my forties in the nineteen twenties, so it's possible I was there. “I don't remember.”

The guy nudges me in a way I've come to find familiar with Iawi Ahket. “Ah, Shewi.” He leaves his hand on my arm a beat longer than necessary, I'm sure to try to find out if we've been connected before. I quickly try to block out the rest of the room and focus on him to see if there is something dark in his essence, but all I feel is a happiness that borders on giddy. Or that might just be the wine. “Such an interesting time,” he says, pulling his hand away from me, breaking our connection. “So much to discover.”

“It's true,” I agree, giving him a smile. He has no idea I was reading him, and that makes me feel a little more confident.

Drew leads me farther into the living room, where several people pull him into a large group and he greets some new arrivals with hugs and cheek kisses. I look around but don't feel comfortable just plopping down somewhere, so I hover on the edges. Someone laughs on the other side of the room and I see Giselle, perched on the corner of a low table, drink in hand,
talking to an elegant African-American woman. She doesn't look my way, but I can tell from her body language that she sees me. And that she wants me to see her.

Every few minutes there are more people coming off the elevator and into the room. There's no way I'm going to be able to read each person individually, even if I had all night. I think back to the guy on the bridge that day, and how it seemed like there was a spotlight on him, separating him out from the hundreds of other people in the crowd that day. I wonder if I can do the same thing here. Janine says that empathy is just a higher form of intuition, and that if I allow my conscious mind to be free, my instincts will be my guide. Maybe I'll be drawn to the people who need to be seen.

There's a barking laugh to my right, and I turn back toward Drew. A couple of the people next to him are talking about a party that happened in France a few weeks ago, and I'm trying to listen in when my phone buzzes with a text. I reach into my pocket and pull it out.

You look beautiful. I'm so glad u came tonight.

I glance up, startled, and catch Drew's eye from the middle of the group. He smiles and raises his eyebrows, and I can't help but smile back. I quickly type a reply.
Me too. Except for the fish eggs. Ick.

I watch him and grin when he twitches as the text comes through. He holds his phone up to the guy who's talking. “You're going to have to excuse me a second. I have to get this.”

“Thanks for the save,” he says, leading me away from the group. “Sit down with me over here?” he asks. The suede couch is big enough for ten people, and I instantly recognize Portia at
one end of it, talking to a girl who looks like a Russian model, all skinny limbs and hard angles.

“Ah, Andrew!” An older woman wearing a lot of makeup pats the seat next to her. “Is this the young lady you were telling me about?” I can see Drew shaking his head just a tiny bit. I'm sure she sees him, but completely ignores the signal and grabs my hand, pulling me close to her. I feel that she's Akhet, but I don't sense any past connection between us or anything dark that would make me want to read her further. “So nice to meet you, dear. I'm Sonia.” As soon as she says her name, I recognize her throaty voice; she's the actress who starred in all of those old movies that Dad loves to watch.

“I'm Cole,” I say, wishing I could get her autograph, but knowing it would not only be awkward here, but would require an explanation that I couldn't give Dad.

“Cole?” she repeats. “What kind of a name is Cole?”

“It's really Nicole. I never liked it.”

Her face brightens as if I've handed her something she recognizes. “Now, that's a lovely name, dear. I knew a Nicole back in France. Beautiful girl.” She seems far away for a few moments, lost in thought about people who are probably long dead. She focuses her eyes on me again. “And who are your people?”

“I'm sorry?” I feel a little panicky. Has she already figured out I'm working for the Sekhem?

Drew leans in. “Cole's Shewi, Sonia. Don't hassle her.”

Sonia scowls at Drew and smacks him lightly on the hand. “I never hassle. What I meant was, who else have you met since you transitioned?”

“I only know a few other Akhet,” I explain, hoping that's vague enough to get her off the subject.

“Mostly Sekhem,” Drew says, and I wince.

Sonia waves her bony hand in the air. “Dreary.” She turns her attention back to me, grabbing one of my hands in both of hers. “Who are these Sekhem?”

“Just a guy,” I say quickly, hoping I can steer the conversation away from Griffon. The last thing I want is to draw attention to the fact that I know Sekhem.

“Isn't his mother Akhet too?” Drew says. I watch his eyes, but all I see is curiosity, not malice.

The skinny girl's head snaps around as soon as he says that. “You said you know a Sekhem whose mother is also Akhet?”

I nod, suddenly on the alert. I glance at Sonia—she's still holding my hand in hers, and I get a distinct feeling that she doesn't like this girl.

“Griffon and Janine?” the girl asks. Their names seem to hang in the air. “I believe their last name is Hall in this lifetime.”

I search her face for some sort of deception, some indication that she knows more than she's letting on. “Yes. That's right. They live in Berkeley.”

There is a flash of pain or guilt behind her eyes, and she looks from me to Drew. “How is Griffon?”

“Fine, I guess,” I say slowly. I glance at Giselle, but I can't tell if she's paying attention. This girl is way too interested in Griffon for it to be anything casual.

“Good.” She nods her head. “Good. I'm glad he's well. I knew
he was in the area, but I haven't made contact with him in this lifetime.”

“I'm surprised,” Sonia says, a touch of annoyance in her voice. “You seem to make contact with
so
many people.”

I relax a little bit and give her a tiny smile. Sonia doesn't like her because she thinks she's a slut, not because she's dangerous. “So you knew Griffon before?”

“In Italy,” she says. “It was just as his awareness was starting. In the middle of the seventeenth century.”

“I lived in Italy too,” I say in Italian. “But later. In the late eighteen hundreds.” I glance at Drew, knowing that I haven't told him the whole truth about me and Griffon and how we were connected in the past. I wonder if he can tell.

She doesn't look surprised at all, but answers in the same language. “Is he married? Does he have a family?”

I smile. “He's only seventeen. No kids that I know of.”

“Of course,” she says. “It's so difficult to keep track.” She looks me up and down so pointedly it feels like I'm suddenly naked. “So you are the same physical age? Are you with him?”

I can feel my face get hot. “I . . . um . . . we went out a little bit,” I finally manage.

The woman looks off into the distance. “Back then he was a wonderful lover and a loyal partner. I can't imagine that's changed much.”

I stare at her. A wonderful lover? Who throws out information like that as if it's no big deal?

“But not one who forgave easily,” she continues. There's a pause. “Please tell him Chiara says hello the next time you see him.”

“I will,” I say, knowing that her message will never be delivered.

“Well,” Drew says, looking uncomfortable. “It's always interesting to see how people connect.” He nods to a long table where the caterers have set out plate after plate of food. “Looks like it's time to eat.”

It's not until I'm halfway to the table that I realize we were all speaking Italian.

“. . . so then she says, ‘Don't I know you from somewhere?' and I didn't have a clue what to say!” Everyone laughs as Sonia finishes her story.

We're sitting in several large groups around the apartment, our dirty plates taken away almost magically by the caterers. For the first time tonight, Drew isn't next to me, but I see him looking over at me from across the room, making sure I'm not sitting here all by myself. So far I've seen only a few indications that various people are hiding small things like the rift between Sonia and Chiara, but nothing big and revealing like Janine and the Sekhem are looking for.

The man on the couch shifts position as he talks to the woman next to him, not paying any attention to me. As an experiment, I reach out and put one hand next to his back to see if I can read him, if I can find any connection between this
random stranger and Veronique, but immediately I'm drawn into a vivid memory of my own.

Ground fog lingers in the early morning light, and I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders. I bump into neighbors rushing through the streets as I hurry back into our cabin. My chest pounds as I scan the familiar faces, but none bear the features I'm looking for. I pull the heavy wooden door open, hoping against hope, but Mama is the only one to greet me.

“Quickly, child,” she says, gathering whatever she can grab and stuffing it into the wooden trunk. “Most of the others have already started out. We don't want to be left behind. Your father is almost finished loading the wagon with supplies for the journey, and Elias said that the army is setting fire to everything that's left and that they're getting closer by the hour.”

I look around at the four walls that have been my home my entire life, memorizing every crack in the chinking that holds the logs together. The small wooden pallet that I've slept on since I was old enough to leave my mother's side. The table and chairs that Papa made as a wedding present for Mama. How can we possibly choose what to take and what to leave to the flames? I pick up Sadie from the small shelf above my bed and tuck her into a tiny corner of the trunk.

Mama plucks the dingy cloth doll from her hiding place and holds her out to me. “Aren't you too old for dolls? What use will she be in the new settlement?”

I snatch the doll and place her gently back in the trunk, smoothing the black yarn hair and delicately beaded dress that Mama sewed over many hours bent in front of the fire. “Sadie is not for playing with anymore,” I say firmly. “But I cannot
leave her to them.” Just picturing their white, hairy hands on my treasure makes me feel physically sick. Even worse, what if one of the soldiers gave her to his own yellow-haired daughter to play with? The thought makes me shudder.

Mama smiles as though she's reading my mind. “Very well. Sadie may come. But the rest is only for necessities. It is a very long journey to the new settlement, and we have no need of luxuries in the wagon.”

I hear Papa trying to calm the horses outside as the crowds rumble by in their wagons and on foot. I know Mama hears them too as she looks around the room that suddenly seems so small. The dishes are still stacked on the shelves, the crooked flower vase I made Mama from river clay is on top of the hearth, and the beautifully woven blanket hangs in the window. None of these things will be coming with us.

Mama shuts the trunk with an air of finality and takes one last look around the room. “Help me with this,” she says, taking one leather handle as I grab the other. She leaves not even a backward glance on the place, looking only forward as we step into the weak morning light.

I'm disoriented for a few seconds as the memory fades, and I'm left with nothing but questions. Without knowing where or when that lifetime took place, I'm sure it's one I haven't explored before. Who was I? Where were we going? I close my eyes for a second and try to fix what I saw in my memory. Mama had light brown skin and long black hair that was caught in a bun at the base of her neck, and was wearing a long red dress that looked like something out of
Little House on the Prairie.
I remember the pounding in my chest as I watched the people
fleeing the village. I was searching for someone, but I have no idea who.

I look over at the man next to me. He's tall, with jet-black hair and a distinct, but not unpleasant, nose. He's still deep in discussion with the woman on his other side and hasn't even noticed our connection, but he has to be the reason for such a random memory—he must have something to do with that lifetime. I'm about to tap him on the shoulder when he and the woman stand up and cross the room to get more drinks.

Giselle wanders over from another group and sits on the arm of the sofa next to me, smiling and talking to people she knows. Sonia starts another story and Giselle turns to me while the focus isn't on us.

“Are you enjoying the party?” she asks, taking a drink of her wine.