ORDER OF SEVEN (2 page)

He glares at me in response, blond brows furrowed over his blue eyes. Even knowing Nodin my whole life, the ice-blue color of his eyes is always striking.

“Don’t look at me like that, there’s nothing I can do about it,” I snap, knowing what his look means, and then feel bad. He can’t help experiencing what I feel. I normally wouldn’t get so irritated by it, but the calling makes me edgy, or as Nodin would say, an itch with a B.

“I’m not. Chill out,” he says, scowling.

“What’s your deal, then? You look stressed.” His hair is a mess, but not in a trendy way, more of an Einstein-I-haven’t-slept-in-a-week way.

He waves away my question, his eyes never leaving the road. “Play nice tonight when you meet Baron. Okay?”

“
Play nice?
What the hell does that mean?”

Nodin sighs. “You can be little intense sometimes. Just relax. Try to be friendly.”

“I’m
always
friendly.” I’m more than a little taken aback. “I didn’t have any trouble making friends with Ben.”

He looks at me, incredulous. “You met him when you were nine. And incidentally, he was my friend first, before he became so close with our family.”

I stare at him, trying to decide how to respond. I feel defensive. But he’s right. I have acquaintances, but no close friends.

His shoulders sag as my hurt feelings drape over him like a wet blanket. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it. It’s not your fault,” he admits.

“Then whose fault is it?” I ask, looking down at my hands.

“Not who. What.” He shoots me a quick glance. “Your ability. It consumes you. You’re disconnected from everything else. That’s not a judgment. It’s just the way it is.”

“So I’m narcissistic and cold?”

“Not at all. You have a huge heart, Devi. You’re just not used to sharing it.” He looks at me with a little smile. “You’re a rookie.”

I would argue, but in a lot of ways he has more insight into me than I do, and frankly, I’m too tired: the tree’s calling is kicking my ass. Another band of energy zips through me like an electric eel. I clench my jaw and lean into the vibrations. When it passes, I decide I’m done with analyze-Devi-hour and change the subject.

“Why didn’t Baron and Ben ride here together before? Seems like common sense with both of them living in Oklahoma.”

“Well...” Nodin hesitates.

“They’re pretty tight, aren’t they?”

“Oh yeah. Real tight.” He pauses. “Ben’s only had a license and his own wheels for about a year. And Baron, well, Baron is pretty busy being a healer.”

Ben’s mom would fly him down in the past, or sometimes they’d make the drive together. His dad died in a plane crash a month before he was born. It’s always just been him and his mom. He’s so close with our family he feels like a brother. At times, a protective one, especially where I’m concerned. This can sometimes be great, and sometimes highly annoying.

Nodin pulls the Bronco in front of our old house. “He’s really let the landscaping go, huh?”

“Guess so.” The sight of the front yard reminds me of when a For Sale sign stuck out of the ground. It seems like a lifetime ago they sold the house, yet the panic and depression remain a lead weight in my gut. Mom and Dad don’t know about the tree. No one does, except my brother.

I do have a vivid memory from when I was about five years old. I was climbing down from high in the tree and Nodin was waiting for me below. As soon as my feet touched the ground, he took me by the shoulders and warned me not to tell Mom and Dad about the tree.

“It will be too hard on them,” he said. This was on the cusp of them trying to find out what was wrong with Nodin, before they knew he was an empath or had even heard of CISC. “No one can know,” he said.

When you’re five and your older brother who you idolize tells you to keep something quiet, you do.

As the years went by, I saw how hard our parents worked to understand Nodin’s intuitive abilities and what they sacrificed to ensure he had the support he needed. He was right. I couldn’t add to their burden. I spent years secretly researching, but never found anything closely resembling the connection I have with my tree or the visions I receive from it. Despite the frustration of not understanding my ability, combined with the crushing isolation of keeping a secret this big, I’ve never told a soul.

Mom and Dad were confused and upset by my sheer panic about the move, too much for Nodin’s comfort. He used his ability to distract them. He only influences others’ feelings when it’s in their best interest. I’m the only person whose feelings he’s unable to manipulate.

“What’s up with the eight foot fence? How long’s that been there?” he asks.

“A couple years. Turns out Joe doesn’t appreciate a certain girl trying to sneak in his backyard to get to her tree.”

Nodin’s brows rise.

“He wants me to have to go through him,” I say.

His eyes fix on mine for a few seconds before he sighs and looks away. “I guess you better get going.”

I pull a hairband out of my jeans pocket and put my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. I never know how windy it’ll be up there.

•◊
3
ץ

TRANSCENDENCE

I
crunch through fallen leaves to Joe’s front porch, teeth clenched, muscles quaking. It knows I’m here. I feel like a junkie. What I need—what is mine—is at this house.
His
house now. I knock on the door. Like an addict, I’ll return over and over for my fix. But first I have to talk to Joe and go through the niceties and wait an eternity to get where I need to be.

Joe opens the door. “Here she is, here she is.” A wide grin erupts a landscape of wrinkles across his tan face. The pissy Chihuahua he holds under his left arm—whom I secretly refer to as Assface—bares his teeth. Joe wears the same faded T-shirt and baggy cargos I see him in every time, just a different version. Grey shoulder-length hair is tucked behind his ears.

“Hey there,” I say.

He beckons me inside. “Come on in, young lady. Come on in.” Assface snaps his teeth.

I turn sideways to avoid the jaws of crazy-paws and shimmy past them. I’m gripped by rattling pulses for a few seconds, my mind a swirl of hot red lights. It ebbs and I resume walking to the family room. Joe, of course, is oblivious.

The house looks so different I no longer associate it with the place I spent my childhood. It’s more like a storage warehouse than a home. Glass cases filled with meticulously cared-for possessions line the walls. Large, pregnant bookshelves sag under the weight. Every available surface and corner is stuffed with shipping supplies. The blinds are almost always completely drawn, making the house a cave. Joe calls himself an artifacts dealer. More of a hoarder, if you ask me. But what the hell do I know?

Joe’s collections seem to go through phases. His current obsession is gemstone skulls. They supposedly have healing properties, and he thinks they’re fascinating. I think they’re creepy.

I preferred the arrowhead phase, which only rivaled the Nepalese artifacts phase in longevity. The most interesting thing to me in his house is the mountain of junk that never finds its way to the trash. Packing peanuts litter the floor, empty food containers pile a foot high on his coffee table and never less than five used coffee mugs occupy the little remaining table space.

Joe is lonely. Claims to have no real friends or family. He never goes on trips over the holidays. He told me once he does most of his buying and selling over the Internet, although he does frequent a few salvage yards from time to time. He knows I will always return and he takes full advantage by squeezing as much conversation out of me as possible.

We are two people completely dependent on each other. He needs me for companionship. I need him to access my tree.

He sits in his recliner, tucking Assface next to his thigh. “I didn’t expect you ‘til Sunday. I have something special to show you. I just got a new skull in—she’s a beauty.” His light blue-grey eyes sparkle. “This one’s made of moonstone, hand crafted in Chile.” He reaches beside his chair to retrieve a box, then pulls out a wad of blue tissue paper. With long, thin fingers he carefully unwraps a milky skull about the size of a large marble. “Isn’t she stunning?”

I nod.

He holds it out to me. A grey strand of hair falls in his face. Assface sends a warning growl as I take the skull from Joe and roll it around in my palm. It’s cold but feels nice. There’s something oddly reassuring about its weight. “What’s it supposed to do?”

“Ah,” he says and holds up a finger, eyes flashing. “I’m glad you asked. It’s supposed to balance energy and be good for circulation.”

I grin, thinking that skull couldn’t touch my energy field. He tucks the stray hair behind his ear and I notice he’s wearing a new ring. It’s silver and turquoise and looks enormous on his thin finger. He’s always donning new jewelry, apparently a fan of Native American stuff. I feel another wave of energy oscillate toward me. I brace and it shatters through me, leaving my ears ringing.

“You okay?” He squints with a tilt of his head, like he always does when he’s worried about me.

Since he’s witnessed me wincing more times than I can count, I had to tell him I’m lactose intolerant and my stomach always hurts. Not a brilliant excuse, but I don’t always have the luxury of time to think of awesome lies.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” A nativity scene on the coffee table catches my eye. It’s small and colorful. “What’s that?” I ask, and immediately regret it. I fell for it. It’s obviously been placed right in front of me in hopes it would strike up conversation. I just ruined any brevity this visit might have.

His brows arch high. “Ohhh, that’s special. It’s hand-carved out of ancient petrified wood in Honduras, just delivered this morning. And look.” He leans forward and picks up one of the animals. “These are pigs, rather than sheep like we’re used to seeing.”

I’m reminded of the time Joe told me he was agnostic. I was younger then, maybe fifteen. I didn’t understand what agnostic meant until I looked it up and learned it’s not a disbelief in God, like atheism. It’s the opinion that the existence or nonexistence of God is unknowable.

I reach for the Virgin Mary figurine and inspect the tiny details of her burgundy robe. “Why are you buying nativity scenes if you’re agnostic? You kind of have to believe in God to believe in Jesus.”

He sits back in his chair still holding the tiny wooden pig and smiles. “Ah, but the very reason I study religions is based on my agnosticism. The reason we need stories such as those in the Bible, or the Koran, or the Tanakh, is because no one
really
knows anything, and since it’s impossible to know, we have faith, and faith is dependent on stories passed down from generation to generation, giving mankind hope and direction.” He puts the pig on the coffee table. “The power and necessity of stories is the one thing I do know for sure. That’s my religion.”

It’s the most profound thing I’ve ever heard. It never dawned on me religion is based on stories, or that one is not more right than the other. I’m about to ask him another question when the calling grips me again. When I look up at him, he’s got that concerned look on his face.

Joe sighs. “I know. You want to get to your tree. But just one more thing.” He scoots Assface into a crate on the far end of the room, shuffles down the hall, and returns with an envelope which he offers to me.

“What’s this?” I take it from him.

“You’ll see.” A smile widens across his face.

I open it, trying to keep my hands steady. It’s a birthday card. Inside, wrapped in a tiny square of green tissue paper, is a tree of life charm.

“Happy eighteenth. Sorry, it’s a little belated,” he says, smiling shyly. His hands fumble, then settle in his pants pockets. “You can put it on a necklace. Or a bracelet.”

I nod but can’t speak. I don’t know what to say. A thank-you seems too simple. I showed up at his door nearly four years ago, a stranger, telling him a story of growing up here and missing the memory-filled family tree. He introduced himself with a trustworthy smile that reached his eyes.

“I’m Joseph. Joseph Bridle—like in horse gear, not weddings—but you can call me Joe.”

I asked if I could visit the tree. He said yes. I asked if I could return. He said of course.

I’ve shown up at his door dozens, maybe even a hundred times over the years and he’s always looked past the strangeness of my visits. Despite my initial resentment, I’ve grown from merely tolerating Joe, to actually liking him. I’m so touched by his gift I do something completely out of character for me. I hug him.

“Oh, glad you like it,” he says with flushed cheeks. “Sorry it’s a little late, November snuck up on me.”

“No, it’s fine...but how do you know when my birthday is?” I make it a point to never discuss personal details.

“You told me once.” His gaze lowers to the floor. “Last year, don’t you remember?”

I didn’t, but then again, our visits are usually a blur. Excusing myself, I hand Joe the envelope with the charm tucked back inside and walk out the back door.

The massive oak tree towers above me from the far right corner of the yard. Thick branches dip nearly to the ground, like a giant’s hand awaiting a passenger. I reach up to my branch—the one I’ve used to climb it since I was five—and lift myself into its arms. The urgent energy transforms into soothing waves, twining through my fibers, entrancing me. My breath comes in short gasps, taking in what feels like clearer, sweeter air than before.

I’m lured higher and higher until I get to my chair, a forked branch that makes a perfect seat. I wilt into it, my cells merging with the tree’s essence. My arms and legs are the branches: weighted, powerful, rough with thick bark. Warm sap runs through my veins, and vibrations from the earth tremble in my bones. I reach up and feel my bark crackling, the warmth of the sun, and the undeniable, immense connection down deep in the earth. Anchored. Rooted. Part of something bigger.

The vision comes immediately.

I’m with Nodin. We’re young. He’s chasing me around the tree faster and faster. I’m squealing and laughing. He’s wearing long sleeves and a hat to protect his pale skin.