Speed of Light (28 page)

Fara sat at the edge of my bed. “My baba called them Hashshashin, these Nocti of yours. For thousands of years they are the dark Hashshashin. I find out from Tony that the word for this in English is
assassin
.”

I picked at my fingers. Watched blood ooze between my nail and skin.

“They do not just kill bodies; they kill love, dreams too. Do you know what my baba said to me about them?”

“What?” My mind turned over and over again the conversation about Ms. Asura at DG.

“He said it is easy to give up the body, for it is fragile and from the earth. But that I must never let the Hashshashin speak to my heart. I must give my blood to save my light. They promise miracles and prey on ignorance. I have seen much ignorance in this country of yours. Much fear of difference, no tolerance.”

“Turn on the television and it’s the same everywhere.” I brushed off her stinging criticism. We aren’t different from anyone else.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t have to be. What do you say, sink or fly?” She reached out and touched my cheek until I raised my eyes.

“Sink or swim?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You can fly, be above, not sink below.”

I blinked at her, waiting for the next fault she might find.
What else am I doing wrong?

With narrowed flashing eyes, she asked, “What do you think of this wedding? Was it the perfect American wedding?”

I couldn’t help snorting back laughter, which made her smile.

“I guess the dying is not so perfect?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one.”
Will
I wear white? Find a man to cherish me and treat me as the precious person brides always embody? If I can’t love myself, how can someone else love me?

“A wedding?”

“No. Never been to a wedding.” People died, left, and disappeared in my world; they didn’t commit to love, honor, and cherish.

“Oh.” She nodded. “Tens and Meridian seemed to think it was good.”

I shook my head. “They are in love. Even crap smells sweet to them.” I blanched, not sure where the venom came from.

“Ah, you’re jealous of them?”

I stayed silent.

“Me too.” She poked at my leg.

I wondered aloud, “Tens is Meridian’s Protector and her soul mate.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you my soul mate too?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Her expression closed.

“How do we know?” I pressed, pushing at her buttons, hoping for a reaction.

“What are you asking me?” Her brow furrowed.

“Are we going to fall in love like them?”
Am I destined to fall in love with a woman?

“Ah, you Americans always focus on the sex, don’t you?”

A scalding blush flowed over my cheeks but I held my ground. “Oh, please. You only bring up the American
thing when you need to buy time to formulate an answer.”

“Noticed that, did you?” She smiled. “There is more than one kind of soul mate, Juliet.” We heard the front door. “Tony is back. Do you want to eat anything?”

I shook my head. “I think I’ll practice my reading.”
Formulate a plan to confront Ms. Asura and find my mother
.

“Do you want help from Tony?”

I frowned. “Not tonight.”

“What are you thinking about so frowny?” She paused. “The book?”

“Nothing.” I didn’t want to share yet.

“You will tell me before you run away toward what it is in your heart? You will let me run beside you.”

“Are you asking or telling?” I bit out the words. I didn’t need a babysitter.

“Yes.” She stepped away. “You are not alone.”

“Sure.” I already regretted putting everyone in more danger by being honest.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Not right now.” I couldn’t tell if I hurt her feelings or not.

She nodded and stopped at the door. “We are on your side. Give what little trust you can, please? It becomes easier with practice.”

I lay flipping through pages, trying to read between the lines of my mother’s lines and squiggles. The only words I had to tell me what I longed to know.
What is my story?
I whispered her words out loud:

“ ‘Did he make it out? Did they help him go on as we’d planned? Does he see this moon tonight?’

“ ‘My daughter will be strong and grow up laughing. She will eat ice cream for dinner and take naps for no reason. She will not work until her fingers bleed. She will know her worth.’ ”

I shivered and rose to close the window. A new statue installed in front of the new construction site across the street sat across from my window, gazing up at a yellow balloon trying to float into the sky. The fake man stared vacantly, directly at my room, at me.
He’s only a statue
.

I quickly pulled the window handles, trying to shield myself. They stuck. The window wouldn’t shut. I opened it again and leaned down to see a piece of paper, of cardboard, wedged into the frame.
What is this?

I lifted it out and realized it was a postcard. A sunset at a beach. Just like Kirian and I talked about so many years ago. We’d live on the beach and eat coconuts and crabs.
Oh, Kirian! Why did you betray me? How did this get here?

Written in red ink like blood were the words:

You’re losing lives like your cat. You will suffer foolishly
.

I dropped the postcard, my heart skipping and stuttering, the air impossible to inhale. I watched it blow in the breeze toward the ground. I slammed the window shut, sliding to the floor.
Is she out there? Is she watching?

I gagged back bile.
Ms. Asura has been here
. While I’d been making cakes and serving them. While I’d wondered if my life might ever contain the love that I saw reflecting
in the eyes of Meridian and Tens, Gus and Faye, Nelli and Bales.
She was here
. Spreading poison and reminding me there was no escape.

I crawled along the floor until I could nudge open my closet door. I felt for the telltale bulge of Rumi’s folio. My fingers ran along the back seam of the carpet until I could lift it. I tugged.

“No, no, no, no.” I lifted more of the rug. Maybe it shifted. Maybe it moved over.

I flicked on the light switch. Nothing. Bare plywood. No leather. No folio. Nothing.
Rumi’s book is gone
.

This is all my fault. I did this
. I should have given it back yesterday instead of making the cakes.
I should have, I should have, I should have
—I opened my mouth to call for Fara, but nothing came out.
What can she do? We’re doomed. We’re going to die and it’s my fault
.

Shutting the door behind me, I curled into a ball on the floor of my closet, wishing for Mini, who’d planted herself at Faye’s side after the wedding. I tucked my head deeply against my knees.
Why now? This is too much. They won’t forgive this
.

I felt snot ooze down my cheek, my eyes scratchy from so many tears. At some point, I dozed off and dreamed of freight-train tornadoes ripping my family away. Of DG. Of children crying. Of Kirian reaching for me. Of my future spreading out in front of me as nothing but a void.

“S
upergirl?” Tens turned around, hopping backward, making it clear he was waiting for my slow ass.

Tens decided we needed to run a few miles to expend all the adrenaline of the last week and clear our minds. I was pretty sure I could clear my mind during a massage and manicure, but he thought this was good for me.

I grunted. I saw the cottage and sped up.
Grape soda and a flat surface. Hallelujah
.

A Timothy had left the day’s newspaper on our door with a note on their signature stationery.

Related?

The headline read LAST YEAR’S WINNER AND
CURRENT FAVORITE COLLAPSES WITH MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS. The accompanying note said,
“The article was vague. Nocti?”

Tens booted up the laptop and I turned on the television. Tens’s fingers flew over the keys. “Merry, listen. ‘The team’s owner reported that Roberto Tonsa started experiencing severe symptoms earlier in the day yesterday. He remains hospitalized under round-the-clock care. The backup driver was flown in from Charlotte last night as a precaution, but they were hoping Tonsa would be better today with the IV medications. They are unable to identify the toxin in his system. The backup driver, Eddie Smith, will try to qualify the car.’ ”

Could the Nocti poison someone? Sure. What did they have to gain by poisoning one driver, though? That didn’t make sense.

Tens continued. “ ‘If Tonsa is not cleared to race Sunday, Eddie Smith, who did practice here earlier in the month, will take over the car.’ ” He frowned. “They say it’s a risky choice since he hasn’t been up to speeds or practiced in current race conditions. But they have every confidence the veteran driver, but Indy 500 rookie, will race well. Smith has been off the circuit for several years amid rumors of addiction and gambling debts. When asked about this opportunity, Smith said he owed his family everything for sticking by him. Racing Sunday would pay them back for all the pain he’d caused.”

I battled to see into the future.
Just a glimpse. Anything
.

“You’re making me dizzy,” Tens grouched.

“Are you picking up on it?” I asked, excited. Maybe we’d broken through the silence and could communicate telepathically.
Finally
.

“You’re mumbling and pacing,” he said without looking up.

“Oh.”
That’s disappointing
.

“You think this is Nocti?”

“I don’t know. I don’t get what they’d gain.”

“Giving one driver a chance at redemption? That’s not like them.”

“Eyes open, right?”

Tens’s phone rang and I picked it up.

“Can you come by the shop, please?” Rumi’s agitated voice galloped over the phone line.

“Now?” I asked, watching Tens leap into action at the tone in my voice. “Rumi,” I mouthed at Tens’s silent question.

“Yes, Timothy is here with news.”

What are the Woodsmen doing there?
“We’re on our way,” I said, hanging up. “Is it a trap to meet W.O.W. at Rumi’s?”

“I hope to hell not.” The quickest way over was by car, but the care Tens took loading up weaponry slowed us way down.

The few Spirit Stones Rumi had rehung went from normal to bright as we approached.
No Nocti
.

Rumi’s store was full of shoppers. All male. All trying to look inconspicuous. Because I was pretty sure they
were all Woodsmen, I bet they’d all turn if I yelled, “Timothy!” I was half tempted to try it just to see how they’d respond.

“Thank you for coming.” The elder had pulled his wheelchair next to Rumi’s seating area.

“What’s going on?” Tens asked, standing at attention.

“We need your help,” Timothy replied.

Rumi returned with grape soda and Coke for us. “I think you’ll need this,” he said, his expression grim.

I fingered the notebook in my pocket and dragged it out to take notes.

“One of our brothers was found dead this morning.”

“I’m sorry.” I blanched.

He nodded. “We know the risks.”

“You think he was killed?” Tens asked, already skipping forward.

“Yes, deliberately. We think he saw something.”

“Something?” I let the word hang there. I wondered why Timothy seemed to think Fenestras were also mind readers. With no idea where he was taking the conversation or what he expected from me, I waited.

“Part of our vow is to stay in this world, fight the pull of the Dark, until we can help our brothers. We need you to find him and see if he knows who killed him or why.”

“Wait, I’m not a physic. Not a medium like on TV.” I shook my head.

“I know that. Hear me out. He was found dead at the track; he was in charge of making sure the grounds are safe.”

“The Indianapolis Motor Speedway? That track?” Tens shook his head. “What does that have to do with us?”

Timothy wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry, I forget you’re unschooled. There are places in the world where the veil of time and energy is thin. Where it’s transparent. Sacred places like Easter Island, the pyramids, the palace of Machu Picchu. Places human beings congregate over time—these absorb energy and feed the universe. It’s similar to the belief that saying the name of a god makes them more powerful. Prayer and thought convey strength to those they are directed at.”

“Mythology?” Tens asked Rumi.

“You have been paying attention, haven’t you?” Rumi looked pleased.

“So these sacred places get more or less powerful with human interaction?” I tried to follow.

“Yes, close enough.” Timothy nodded.

“And you’re comparing the race track to Giza?” Tens queried.

“Not the track itself but the land it’s on. Yes. For centuries it was of the First People, but with settling of these lands, the ancestors of Polly Barnett took ownership. She then inherited it from her family; her husband was a WoW member. They settled there to protect the land, the veil.”

Where had I heard that name?
“Wait, Polly Barnett, the one who wandered around with a black cat looking for her daughter? That one?”

Rumi nodded.

“The same. We do not know much of the details, but in a battle with the Nocti, her daughter and husband were killed. Polly never recovered her mind, but her death allowed the land to be sold outside of the family. In 1909, it was sold again to developers who needed a racetrack for the burgeoning automobile industry.”

Trying to keep up, I asked, “The Indianapolis Motor Speedway is built on the sacred land?”

“Yes, and at every event, Woodsmen from this region converge to protect the people and the veil. We volunteer and man every position possible. What we cannot manage, our families do.”

“Do they know? The racetrack owners?” Tens asked.

“How could they not? They turn a blind eye to us because we all want the same thing. A safe and harmonious place. But every century, the Nocti converge somewhere in the world to elect a new Commandant. The elder is killed, his essence absorbed by his successor in a secretive ceremony.”

My stomach dropped. “Let me guess, this year Indy is the selectee?”