Pyxis: The Discovery (Pyxis Series) (22 page)

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MASON AND I SAT side-by-side on the end of the double bed in the guest room of Aunt Dorothy’s house. I held my black-and-purple fleece blanket on my lap. The
pyxis
sat on the low dresser with its lid tilted back. Aunt Doris mixed up a glass of water with one drop from each of the orange, green, and yellow bottles, then poured half of the solution into a second glass, and emptied the rest into a third glass. One for me and one for Mason, I guessed.

“Before you drink, you each need a drop of this.” She pulled a small glass bottle from the pocket of her cardigan. It looked like a miniature version of one of the
pyxis
bottles; the solution it contained was inky-black. “A drop of this will lower your psychological barriers and allow the solution to help you form the link. Open up.”

We both opened our mouths obediently, like baby birds waiting for breakfast. A single drop fell on my tongue, and I grimaced at its bitterness. It tasted like a very strong, very spoiled lemon. I felt Mason shudder beside me, and I snickered.

“Now, I want you both to lie back in the bed. Go ahead, lie down and get comfortable.” She slipped the little bottle back in her pocket and made shooing motions at us.

We both kicked off our shoes, scooted back on the bed, and lay against the pillows stacked in front of the headboard. I spread my blanket over both of us and then folded my hands across my belly. My heart raced with nervousness, and I folded my fingers into my palms to keep from raising them to my mouth to chew on my nails. Mason reached over to take my hand, and almost immediately, my pulse slowed.

A strange sensation began to sweep over me. It was a little like being drunk, except everything around me seemed to be vibrating. I looked over at Mason in alarm, and he winked at me. He was taking all of this so much better than I was.

“Now you’re going to drink, but not from your own glass,” Aunt Dorothy said. She stood on Mason’s side of the bed and handed one glass to him and one across to me. “Corinne drinks from Mason’s, and Mason drinks from Corinne’s. No need to drink it all. Just a few sips will do. In a moment, you’ll feel extremely tired. Let yourself drift. Don’t fight it. It’s okay to fall asleep.”

Mason held his glass for me, and grateful to wash away some of the horrible taste of the black liquid, I took three swallows from it. I held my glass for him, and he drank from it, keeping his hazel eyes intent on my face. We both handed our glasses to Aunt Dorothy, and within seconds, the world started to go gray and fade. Was this supposed to happen? I felt panic rise in my chest and tried to sit up.

“Issh okay, Corinne,” Mason slurred. “Don’ worry.”

I felt him squeeze my hand weakly, and then I lost consciousness.

* * *

I sensed light through my eyelids, but they didn’t want to open. I heard a quiet, incessant chattering, like a TV or radio in the distance. I tried to lift my hand to my face, but my arm didn’t budge. Why was I paralyzed? I must be dreaming. I tried to shake my head and wake myself up.

My eyes finally opened, and I looked around the room. How long had I been out? It was still light outside, so it couldn’t be too late. The whispery chatter still seemed to fill my brain, so I propped myself up on my elbows and shook my head a couple of times. Yikes, big mistake. I sank back against the pillows as dizziness reeled through me.

Are you okay?
Mason’s voice filled my mind, and I jumped. I suddenly remembered the rite, the bottle of black ink, Mason’s hand warm around mine. I turned to look for him. He lay on his stomach beside me, watching me silently with his head resting on his folded arms.

Sorry, did I scare you? I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t mean to yell.

I stared at him. A tiny smile played across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Pretty freaky, huh?” he said.

“Was … was that…” I didn’t even know how to pose the question.

Yep.
I heard his voice in my head again.
Now you try.

Uh … do you hear that chattering?
I silently sent the thought to him.

He nodded.
I think I’m hearing the stream of your thoughts. Like background noise. And you’re probably hearing the same from me.

Are you sure we’re not asleep? Or high? Or … dead?

Pretty sure, yeah. Guess this is how it feels to be in
syndesmo
.

I wanted to reach into my ears and scratch my brain. It was like a wad of static-filled fuzz was stuffed in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, and another wave of dizziness swept over me. I swallowed hard against a rush of nausea.

“You’re both awake. Wonderful!” Aunt Dorothy appeared at the door. I tried to sit up, but another bout dizziness consumed me, and I fell back to the bed. “No, don’t get up, my dear. You’re going to feel like that for a bit. Give it another hour or so before you try to walk. Wouldn’t want you to bump your head or twist an ankle.”

She sat on the edge of the bed near my feet. “How is the link working? Have you tried communicating with each other?”

I frowned and nodded. “There’s a chattery buzz in my mind. Mason thinks it’s his thoughts running through my head, like background noise.”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s to be expected. Don’t worry, you’ll learn to tune it out when you need to.” Easy for her to say. I wanted to claw my eyes out so I could get to my brain and make the static stop. “But what about communicating? Can you hear each other?”

“Yeah, complete sentences and everything,” Mason said. “It’s wild. Like having two-way radios installed in our heads.”

She clapped her hands. “Oh, I do wish Doris was here. She’d get such a kick out of this. But now I should leave you alone for a bit to recover. Just lie still. And practice some more, if you’d like. You should be able to pick up on each other’s emotions and moods. Soon you’ll be able to convey images and physical sensations, such as tastes and smells.

“Oh, one other thing. It would be wise if you each chose some sort of symbol to associate with the sensation in your mind. It can be anything—a color, an object, a word. But if you can attach something to the sensation of another person being inside your mind, it will be easier to shut them out when you need to.”

“Will Mason be able to tell if I’m, um, shutting him out?” I asked.

“Yes, he will have the sense that your presence has receded somewhat from his mind. Like turning down the volume on the TV. But you can never completely close yourself off from the link.” She patted the blanket covering our legs and left us alone.

I turned onto my side to face Mason, and he did the same. A symbol…. I watched his eyes for a moment, focusing on the tiny flecks of gray, brown, gold, and green in his irises. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sensation of his presence in my mind.

Everything okay?
he asked.

I’m just trying to come up with a symbol. Do you have one yet?

Yeah … can you see it?

No, I don’t see anything. What is it?

Your purple chair. The one in your room.

I laughed.
Seriously? Why that?

I love it. It’s cool and unique. Like you.

Thanks.
I felt a blush spread over my face and opened my eyes.

Got one yet?

I nodded. I pictured a sun-dappled Ponderosa pine and imagined the smell of warm wood, pine needles, and resinous-vanilla. It was perfect. It had the sort of permanence, peacefulness, and steadiness I’d always associated with Mason, and the smell reminded me of the soap he used.

Do you see it?

I closed my eyes and concentrated hard on forming every detail of the tree in my mind, as if I had taken a photograph with my phone and sent it to his brain.

He gasped, and my eyes popped open.

“Holy … I could see it, Corinne,” he breathed, and he looked at me in wonder. “Ponderosa pine. How did you do that?”

I smiled triumphantly. For once, I was getting the hang of something before he did.

“I pretended I took a picture of it with my phone and tried to, like, message it to you with my mind. I tried to picture everything, down to the tiniest detail.”

Why is that my symbol?

Because you’re so tall.
I grinned.
Just kidding. The colors of the tree match the colors in your eyes. It’s strong and well-grounded, like you. And it smells like your soap—warm wood and vanilla.

I like it. This is really amazing, isn’t it?

Yeah, in a very disturbing sort of way.
I wondered what I’d do when we could feel each other’s emotions and sensations. The thought made me want to squirm.

Why disturbing?

Well … there’ll be times I might not want you to know what I’m thinking or feeling. I’m sure you can, um, think of your own examples.

Now it was his turn to blush.
Hopefully, we’ll figure out that volume-down thing pretty quick.

I nodded. We both lay quiet and still, and I listened to the stream of whisper-chatter streaming through my mind. I couldn’t really make out individual words, but that was probably good. It’d be easier to ignore that way.

Mason reached out and brushed his fingertips over my cheek, trailing warmth across my skin.
Whatever happens, whatever we have to face, I’m glad it’s with you
.

Me too
.

Lulled by the whisper in my mind and exhausted from taking in the new sensation of my link with Mason, I sank into sleep.

The crackle of burning logs and the smell of wood smoke woke me moments later. I opened my eyes and took in the cove, dark and empty except for the small fire in the stone-lined pit on the beach, and Mason sitting cross-legged and staring into the flames.

Violent flashes of burgundy, purple, and blue light streaked through the night sky, reflecting off Mason’s face to create a sickening, bruised palette on his skin. I scanned the cove and the lake for signs of the black fog, and finding nothing but the usual flora, I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and scuffed through the sand to the fire.

I sank to the beach next to Mason, imitating his cross-legged posture, my heart thudding hard in my chest. He didn’t acknowledge me, his eyes still locked on the flames, but I could hear the background noise of his thoughts.

“Mason?” I whispered, almost afraid to disrupt him. “Are you really here, or am I dreaming?”

We’re both dreaming,
he said through our link.
But we’re both really here, too.

A chill washed through me and I hunched closer to the fire. I tried to ignore the seeds of panic that began to expand inside me.

Why won’t you look at me?
I asked.

The fire …
His distress and terror swelled through our link and hit me like an air horn, echoing heavily in the space behind my eyes.

I looked more closely at his face and noticed a tear leak from his eye and track down his cheek. As I watched, tears came faster, and his face pinched into a mask of pain. His breath became ragged, and I reached out to lay a hand on his arm.

Please, tell me what’s going on. What are you looking at?

The fire,
he repeated, and he shrank away from my touch.

Fear joined panic and tightened every fiber in my body. I wanted to stand and run, but instead, I followed Mason’s gaze and looked into the fire.

The flames expanded, filling my field of vision with painful yellow-white light. I squinted against the brightness and allowed my eyes to blur and follow the random, dancing patterns of light. Just as I started to think this was a waste of time and that I should try to snap Mason out of his trance, I began to make out shapes, familiar forms.

I saw a bed in a pale, sparse room. A person lay there, still, eyes closed. I moved closer, or rather the image moved closer to me, as though I worked the zoom on a camera. I saw dark hair, the color of my own. My brother.

“Bradley?” I said, my voice trembling.

He remained still. As the image zoomed closer to his face, I noticed a haze of smoke hanging in the air around his head. And then I smelled it. The burned, rotten smell.

The black fog.

Bradley’s eyes opened slowly, as if moving his eyelids was a huge effort, and he turned his eyes toward me. He said something, but I couldn’t hear his words. I could only see black fog puff from his mouth as his lips moved.

I pushed my horror aside and tried to make out his words, a phrase repeated over and over.

Help me.

But all I could do was watch.

I woke with a sob, my head jerking to the side and arms thrashing. I shuddered and felt Mason move beside me. I turned to look at him, and as in the dream, tears flowed over his cheeks. His eyes reflected my dread and horror, and I knew he’d seen his own nightmare in the fire. He inhaled slowly, trying to calm his hitching breath.

His eyes locked on mine with sharp intensity.
We have to stop it.

END

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Mimi Hayes and Richard Copsey: You’ve been my personal cheering section since the day I was born. Thank you for your limitless confidence in me.

Dustin Neal: Thank you for your unconditional support, everything you do for me, and your innate understanding of the creative life. This book never would have happened without you.

Camille Koehler and Ryan Powers: Sincere thanks for your time, generosity, and excellent feedback. You helped make this story what it is.

Aaron Patterson: Thank you for reaching out to me and instantly becoming my friend, and for helping me with everything from writing to cover art to publishing. I couldn’t have asked to meet a better example of success and vision.

Claudia of Phatpuppy Art, Tiffany Mize-Carter, and Riley: Thank you for teaming up to create such a beautiful book cover. It truly is a work of art.