Speed of Light (38 page)

“Ah, and you told the ivy to stop this, yes? She is not the only one who can ask energy to aid.”

“What?” I swung my head so fast in her direction that the headlamp blinded her.
Huh? We can use this too?

Tony asked calmly, “Fara, can you please tell us more about this ability?”

“All angels can call upon creation.” She shrugged. “You didn’t know this either?”

“No. No, we didn’t.” Tony shook his head.

Fara frowned. “I do not know how it works; my kind do not usually have this ability. My baba, he say I don’t need to know yet.”

“How do you think it works?” Tony tried a different angle.

“Anything of the Creators’ has energy that can be”—Fara paused—“plugged into?”

“Tapped into?” Tony asked.

“Yes, tapped.” She smiled. “But I do not know how.”

Silently, I contemplated the sounds of the night coming alive around us. Scurrying and chirping. I thought really hard at a rock by my foot.
Please move. Please?

“I should tell Tens. Maybe Meridian can try.” Tony dialed Tens to tell him about Fara’s statement. “Right. Okay.” He hung up. “We definitely need to be back for the race tomorrow.”

“Time to search, then.” Fara nodded and squinted at me, at Mini. “Where now?” She shone her light both directions down the stream.

Sudden tears of uncertainty gathered in my eyes.
Mommy? Nicole? Kirian? Is anyone listening? Help us, please!

A spark caught my attention.
A firefly? Come on, show us the way
. It blinked again.

“That way.” I pointed toward the lone, tiny insect lantern. “We’ll go that way.”

W
e knew the Nocti planned on striking at the race and not the parade.
At least we think we know
. But untangling a plot that covered land the size of a small city and trying to save the lives of innocents in a crowd of half a million, with only a few cryptic clues? That felt downright, appallingly impossible. So we were at the parade tonight hoping our presence would keep the Nocti in check and buy us the ability to stop them before tomorrow.

My thoughts kept straying to Juliet and her quest to find bones in the forest, which had a definite needle-in-a-haystack feel to it.
Creator, please let Juliet find what she needs
.

“Supergirl? They’ll be okay. Fara’s tough; she can handle it,” Tens reassured me.

“Yeah, but can Juliet handle it if they don’t find Roshana?”

“She has to. She’ll find the strength.”

I wish I had Tens’s confidence. “Do you think Sergio is here somewhere?”

“I hope. I’d like to talk to him.” Tens’s voice was grim and controlled. He continued. “You gotta focus on the here and now, okay?”

“I know.” I sighed.

The parade route was marked on the map Timothy gave us. Woodsmen from all over the nation were driving and flying into town—more arrived every hour. They’d sent out the battle cry, though how exactly that worked, I didn’t ask. We just needed numbers on our side.

A Woodsman gave us green baseball caps that matched the ones they wore, except on the tree was the letter
F
instead of
WoW
. “Wear these. If asked, the password is
speed
, but you shouldn’t need it. Hear anything, see anything, use these.” He handed us walkie-talkies. “Try to look less like security and more like tourists, please!” He laughed at our serious expressions. “Our job is to alert police to anything suspicious, okay? That’s it. We have hundreds of people in these stands on our side, and beat cops are likely to not ask too many questions.”

I’d prayed for weather cancellations, but that was asking too much. And the macabre nature of the days leading up to the race only meant more gawkers and
sensationalists had purchased tickets.
Like bringing a picnic to an execution
.

The route started on Pennsylvania Street, made a fishhook around Washington, and then back up Meridian. We’d taken positions on the corners where the parade turned onto my road.
Okay, so Meridian Street was Meridian before I was born, but I claim it
. Crowds dibbed the prime seats hours ago. Metal railings blocked off access and checkered flag runners created one lane down the center of the road.

At the intersection, a police car flipped on the sirens and flashers to get through a mass of people.
What if they turn on all the sirens again? Will people leave?

Black-and-white race flags were stuck in the tops of overflowing multicolored flower baskets hanging from each lamppost. The rooftops and balconies of all the buildings along the route were chockablock full of spectators.
None of whom wore signs screaming, “I want to kill you all.” Too bad. Too easy
.

Tens stuck an earbud in and listened to the radio coverage begin. “They’re starting.”

I closed my eyes. Willed my heart rate to stay normal even though I couldn’t stop the surge of adrenaline shooting through my body.

Balloons in the race colors of green, white, yellow, and black were handed out before the race began, making those in the seats an integral part of the decorations.

Kids, from toddlers to ten-year-olds, were down along the railings to catch sight of their sports heroes and to
collect the candy and race car toys clowns passed out as they walked by. Several of the clowns seemed to have odd contacts in their eyes—or black pits of void.
Nocti
.

“Tens?” I squeezed his forearm.

“The clowns?”

“You see them?” I asked.

“Yep, did they have to be so obvious? Clowns? No one likes clowns anyway. I’ll call it in.” He clicked on the walkie-talkie and I saw a few green hats move farther up the route. I turned my eyes back to the passing—

POP!

I ducked as a shot was fired.

“Easy. Just a balloon popping,” Tens soothed me.

I watched the crowds, searching for more faces that held blackened eyes, blank from the void of Dark.

Slowly, a murmur of applause and chatter began to drift over us. It grew in intensity and volume as the first floats rolled closer. The sun ducked behind clouds as if ashamed to watch.

“They’re coming toward us now,” Tens informed me, his head two stories above mine.
Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration
.

As lines of convertibles drove near, the announcer introduced city and track officials over the loudspeaker.

“Anything?” I asked.

“Nada,” Tens answered.

I nudged my way closer as a giant balloon panda came barreling around the corner. It was clear the handlers had trouble controlling it in the quickening breeze.

I glanced up at the sky; gloomy storm clouds boiled on the horizon. I’d given up trying to predict the weather this month.
One minute sunny, the next hail. Probably too far away for anyone to worry? Maybe?
“What are they saying about the weather?” I spoke into the walkie-talkie.

Timothy’s voice came back: “A chance of a thunder cell, maybe hail, but they think the parade will be over before it spins into the neighborhood.”

As a marching band belted out a local fight song, the crowd surged to its feet singing along. I stared at the stands across the road. Then, up behind them, movement on a balcony caught my attention.

“Sergio?” Could it be him? Right size, but in the jacket and hat it was too hard to tell.

I watched him pop a balloon. Then another. Deliberately. Then text or type something on his handheld. He disappeared back inside. With the music, no one heard the popping this time. “Tens, up there. Brick building, third-floor balcony.”

Tens turned and we saw Sergio reappear with another couple of balloons and a girl who was as preppy as she could be in a pink polo and plaid Bermudas.
I don’t know why I keep expecting bad guys to wear black
. He let one balloon go. She let the second one drop next to his. They were heavier than they should have been, drifting down into the unsuspecting crowd below them.

I glanced away, checking to see if anyone noticed, and saw another woman drop a balloon from a building two blocks down.
What’s in the balloons? Nothing good
.

“We have to get people out of here,” I said into the walkie-talkie, hoping I could be heard above the fiddling and guitar of the oncoming music float.

A country singer blared his latest hit from a tall boot of a platform, obscuring my view of the balconies. Next in line, an assortment of gowned race princesses and princes drew lots of catcalls.

Tens grabbed me, leaned down, and shouted in my ear, “Timothy wants to know what makes those balloons different from all the rest? What do they report to the police?”

I swiveled, and everywhere I turned, helium-filled balloons bounced and twirled. “They look the same,” I whispered.
Exactly the same
. “They sink?”

He nodded, then turned back to the walkie-talkie. “We can’t go to the cops with this. There’s no way they’ll just clear it out because of suspicious balloons.”

“What is inside them?”

Bombs? Germs? Chemicals? It doesn’t matter
. I watched Sergio reappear on the balcony with an entire bouquet of dozens. These weren’t falling; they floated exactly like those around us.

“We’re running out of time,” Tens said.

“Think. Think. Think.”

I glanced behind Tens at the building and my jaw dropped. “That’s it. Come on!” I knew how to clear the parade.
Do we have enough time?

T
hunder rumbled so near it shook the ground beneath our feet. I snapped my teeth and bit my tongue. Salty blood filled my mouth.

Left. Right. Step up. Step down. Don’t trip. Where’s the firefly taking us?

We had walked so far, up ladders, down rocks, across wooden footbridges, and under the overhangs of limestone walls. We were no longer on a marked path. We’d seen no evidence of humans for an hour or more. I’d lost
track of time keeping the firefly in sight, and if we were still being followed, I had no idea.

I tripped, unable to catch myself because I clutched Mini against my chest. My knee snapped against a rock and shot pains up through my hips and back. When I righted myself, the firefly was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did it go?” I twisted in all directions.

Thunder crashed, drowning out all other sounds.

“I don’t know. Let’s wait here a minute. See if it comes back.” Tony handed me a water bottle. Night out among the trees of this forest, under the blanket of storm clouds, was so much blacker that any night I’d seen living at DG or in downtown Carmel.

I started to argue with them when I saw a naked man stand up from the underbrush and head toward us.
He’s transparent!
I stifled a scream. “Fara,” I said, sitting down quickly.

As he approached, the hair on my arms raised. I gazed into his eyes. Then I was in my kitchen watching as he nodded to me while jumping through.

“Juliet!” Auntie called to me. I leaned in and saw my mother standing straighter. Her scars seemed less severe. Sunny and bright beyond the window, animals roamed abundantly; the forest was thicker, loftier than anything I’d ever imagined.

“Auntie! Mom!” I waved back.

“Call the light to help you. You did it with the firefly, but you need more than that.”

“How?” I yelled.

“Juliet?” Tony wiped my face. “Are you back?”

I blinked open my eyes. “Auntie said to call the light.” I tasted dried fruit, venison, and walnuts.

Call the light? How?

The first drops of rain smacked the canopy above us, hitting leaves that acted like little umbrellas, until it poured. In seconds we were all sopping wet; the sheets of rain obscured even the bright beams of light from our headlamps.

Fara stood a few feet away with her back to us. She’d turned her headlamp off.

“If you’re okay, I’ll go scout that way?” Tony asked.

“Sure, go.” I swallowed more water, grateful this was a warm rain and not chilling.

Tony set off and came back to us quickly. “We can’t go any farther that way. It’s a cliff above a ravine. In this weather, it’s too risky. We’ll wait it out.”

He and Fara exchanged a glance. We needed to get back to the car and on the road before sunrise to make it to Indy in time for the race.

“I think we’re still being followed,” Fara said. “We might be running out of time.”

“I don’t know where to go from here.” I dashed at my tears.

“You saw Auntie again at the window?” Tony sat down. Both he and Fara sandwiched me.

“Yes, a Native American used the window and she was there. With Mom.”

“She said something?” Fara prodded.

“To call the light.” I shook my head. “She said I’d called the firefly but needed more help.”
There’s no way I called the firefly
.

Lightning flickered, followed by the Creator’s percussion.

“Why not try?” Tony demanded, excitement filling his voice. “They wouldn’t ask you to do something you’re incapable of. I don’t believe that.”

“How?” I asked.

“How did we dispatch that Nocti? We believed we could.” Fara wrapped her arm around me.

“Fireflies don’t come out in thunderstorms, do they?” I asked, trying to think of another light source.

“What does?” She smiled at me.

Lightning? Lightning!

Comprehension made Tony suck in his breath and I nodded. I cradled Mini against me, thinking over and over again,
Lightning, light the way to my mother. Show me how to love her. Lightning, light the way to my mother. Show me how to love her
.

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled.

Fara and Tony held still. Both probably praying.

I gave every possible part of myself to the words.

“It’s getting closer,” Fara whispered as the lightning seemed to change course and the thunder stalled over the top of us. “Keep going.”

I didn’t open my eyes but felt Tony stand and leave.

Another volley of light behind my lids and shaking rippled around us.

“Lightning, light the way—”

“It’s working, Juliet, keep going!” Tony yelled back to us.