The Gathering (14 page)

I lean away, suspicious, until she assures me it’s just ibuprofen.

“After you’ve had a bath, Geoffrey will wrap your ankle in a poultice. The herbs will help the ligaments heal faster. Once you’re cleaned up, you are invited to the dining room for a late dinner.” Vivian turns to the butler. “Will you show our guests to their rooms? Luka, if you would come with me, I’d like to run some tests.”

I take my foot off the stool. “What kind of tests?”

“Nothing intrusive, I assure you. If all is well, he will join you for dinner.”

*

All must not be well. When I shuffle into the dining room, Link and Jillian sit at the large table, freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes, courtesy of the Rivards. Luka is nowhere.

I turn to Geoffrey, who helped me navigate the stairs with a pair of crutches after wrapping my ankle. “Where’s Luka?”

“Ms. Rivard is running more tests.”

“Can I see him?”

“When she’s finished with her examination. For now, the lady of the house would like you to eat.”

Worry and hunger gnaw at my stomach until it’s nothing but a large pit. My last meal consisted of bananas and Lay’s Potato Chips. And that was over twenty-four hours ago.

“There’s no reason for concern. Ms. Rivard is an excellent doctor.” Geoffrey gives me a stately nod and leaves the room.

Link watches him go, then whispers across the table, “I keep calling him Alfred.”

“Who?”

“Geoffrey. He’s Alfred Pennyworth’s doppelganger.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Bruce Wayne’s butler?”

“Is that Batman?” Jillian asks.

Link shakes his head like he’s disappointed in both of us and unwraps his silverware.

Geoffrey returns with three steaming bowls of soup on a silver tray. He places one in front of each of us. “Zuppa Toscana.”

I inhale the savory aroma. I’ve not eaten anything like this since I was dragged out of school and locked in the Edward Brooks Facility. The hub may have kept us fed, but the food was never exactly flavorful.

The first bite has Link groaning. “Rosie would be in heaven.”

I dig in, but have a hard time enjoying. My mind’s too fixated on Luka and these mysterious tests. Whatever’s wrong, it has to be more than a tweaked muscle.

“Did you talk to Cap?” Jillian asks.

I nod. Before I took the most glorious bath in the history of all baths, I contacted Cap via the dream phone to let him know we arrived safely, to update him on the Luka situation, and to inquire about the Fighter. Cap carefully avoided the question and told me to stay focused.

“Does he have any idea how Agent Bledsoe knew we were here?” Her eyes are the perfect combination of round and concerned, which means Jillian’s either an excellent actress or Luka’s right and she’s innocent. I must be looking at her strangely, because her spoon pauses near her lips. “What?”

I look down at my soup, the pit in my stomach growing. I was a fool to trust Clive. I can’t afford to be a fool again, no matter how much I don’t want my growing suspicion to be true.

Jillian’s stare warms the crown of my head. “You don’t think
I
had something to do with it, do you?”

“I don’t understand how they keep finding us.”

She lets her spoon drop into her half-empty bowl with a loud clink.

Link shifts uncomfortably.

Geoffrey returns with fresh salad. Jillian doesn’t touch hers. Nor does she touch the main course of blackened salmon on a bed of rice pilaf. We eat in awkward silence. My hunger goes away. But my worry remains. I need to know what’s happening with Luka. The waiting is driving me crazy. Thankfully, it’s not Geoffrey who brings out the dessert, but Vivian. As soon as I see her, I come forward in my chair. “Is he okay?”

She sets chocolate lava cake in front of Link, Jillian, and then me. “Physically, he’s dehydrated and his blood pressure is slightly elevated. Given the circumstances, neither condition is too concerning. His discomfort, however, is growing increasingly worse.”

“Why? What’s wrong with him?

“I don’t believe his ailment is physical.”

“What do you mean?”

Vivian sits in one of the dining room chairs. “I sent Hezekiah to the bayou. There is a man there who might be able to help.”

“Who is he?” And help with
what
?

“His name is Samson. He’s a Healer.”

Link forks off a bite of his cake. “What’s a Healer?”

“A person who has been gifted with the ability to diagnose and treat non-physical ailments. There are several living out in the swamp. Samson is the best.”

Non-physical.

Something tells me she’s not talking about emotional, either. I think about Scarface curling his arm around Luka’s neck. The black mist seeping inside his body. His inability to throw a shield. His screams in the night. “You think Luka is
spiritually
wounded?”

“I think it’s a possibility we ought to examine.”

A Tumor

V
ivian calls Samson a swamp-dweller. As soon as he steps inside the Rivard foyer, I can see why. He smells like swamp; the odor is overpowering. Combine that with his wandering left eye, a couple missing teeth, and a severely-stooped back, and I have a feeling he’s the kind of guy little kids run away from.

He hobbles inside on Hezekiah’s arm, a threadbare knapsack in his other, and starts speaking in a language I don’t know. Cajun, maybe? Vivian listens attentively, then leads us up the wide staircase to one of the rooms.

Luka lies inside with his eyes closed, breathing rapidly, locks of dark hair plastered to his sweat-dampened forehead. His jaw is tight. His lips, thin.

Samson sets his bag on the armchair by the bedside.

“It’s his lower back.” Vivian asks Luka to turn onto his side and exposes the same bit of skin she exposed earlier.

Samson lays his hand over the spot and starts murmuring under his breath. Then he stops suddenly and pulls his gnarled hand away.

I step further into the room. “What is it?”

“This boy has a leech.”

His use of English is so surprising at first that I don’t process. I have to run his heavily-accented words through my mind a second time. “What’s a leech?”

I mean, I know what it is. But Samson can’t be talking about the regular kind of leech.

“It’s a sort of spiritual parasite used by the other side,” Hezekiah answers.

“What does it do?”

“Sucks life away.”

My fingers turn to ice.

Samson removes a jar from his bag and pours what looks like oil onto his palm. A stringent odor assaults my nostrils, more overpowering than Samson himself. So strong, in fact, my eyes start to water.

“It also works as a tracker,” Hezekiah adds.

“A tracker.” The dull words belong to Jillian.

And suddenly, it clicks. That’s how Agent Bledsoe knew where we were. It wasn’t Jillian. It was this leech. That must be how that dark shadowed thing on the bus found us, too. I come all the way to Luka’s bedside and set my crutches aside. “Can you remove it?”

Samson begins to hum. It’s a sound that seems to rise up from somewhere deep down in his soul. He rubs the pungent oil on Luka’s exposed back and invites the rest of us to place our hands on Luka’s body. A ripple of fear crawls up my spine. The whole scene reminds me of the Ouija board, only instead of a planchette, we’re putting our hands on Luka.

Samson closes his eyes. His humming turns into a chant.

Luka’s skin warms beneath my palm. It grows feverish. Impossibly, dangerously feverish. My mouth goes dry. “What’s happening?”

Nobody answers.

And just when I think touching Luka’s skin will scald my palms, his body convulses, and as fast as I can blink, his temperature returns to normal.

Samson’s chanting stops. He removes his hands. So does everybody else.

“Is that it?” I ask. “Did you heal him?”

He shakes his head sadly.

“But—”

Samson lifts his gnarled finger and pins me beneath the unwavering stare of his right eye. “
I
did not heal him. But he
is
healed.”

“The leech is gone?”

“Yes.”

A wave of relief washes over me as Samson gathers his knapsack and speaks with Vivian in more Cajun. I wish he wouldn’t. I want to know what he’s saying. Especially since they both seem so serious and concerned. Why—if the leech is gone? She nods twice, frowns through most of it, then squeezes Samson’s arthritic hands and thanks him for coming.

As soon as Hezekiah escorts him out, I ask what Samson said.

Vivian glances at Luka, now asleep, her frown still in place. “Samson found a … a tumor on Luka’s soul. It happens whenever someone’s been touched by evil.”

“I thought Samson said he was healed?”

“Of the leech, yes. The tumor remains.”

I grip the handle of my crutches tighter. “What does that mean?”

“We’re not sure. Symptoms manifest themselves in various ways.”

“Is Samson going to come back and remove it?”

“He said there’s only one capable of doing that.”

“Who?”

“He wasn’t clear, which means he either doesn’t know or he isn’t willing to say.”

*

Vivian offers to show us the library—an odd request this late at night, but since I’m too keyed up to fall asleep, I clunk after her down the stairs and stop in the entryway.

The library is breathtaking, with cathedral ceilings and stone flooring and a series of inlaid arched bookcases and stained glass windows above each one. There’s also a fireplace and a proud-looking desk and a table and straight ahead, a dais with an ornate railing and two sets of curved stairs—one on the left, one on the right. I’m so amazed by it all that it takes a few seconds before I realize that while every inch of shelf space is taken, there are no actual books in the room. Every single spine belongs to a composition notebook.

Cap sent us here to find answers and here they are—an ocean’s worth.

“You’re welcome to browse. Cressida only asks that you handle each volume with care and return them to their rightful location once you are finished. She’s very particular about how this room is organized.” Vivian’s mouth splits into a yawn, which she covers with her fist. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to turn in.”

As soon as her heels
tap-tap
away, Link pivots in a slow circle and lets out a low whistle.

Jillian chooses a notebook at random and begins flipping through the pages. She hasn’t said anything since Samson found the leech. A fresh bout of shame washes over me. I bite the inside of my lip, wishing I could take back my accusations from dinner. Why did I have to voice them out loud?

As if realizing our need for some privacy, Link wanders toward the fireplace and examines the ancient-looking relics on the mantle.

I take a step closer to my friend—the one I accused of being a traitor. “Hey, uh, Jillian?”

She slides the notebook back into place and turns around. “It’s okay, Tess. You don’t have to apologize.”

“No, it’s not okay. And I do too have to apologize. You’ve been nothing but loyal, and I threw that loyalty back in your face. I’m really sorry.”

“I get it. I really do. Claire and Clive seriously messed with our heads. But we have to be able to trust each other.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“Then let’s start with the reason we’re here.” Jillian runs her finger along several spines. “There’s no way Cap wants us to read through all of this. He has to have something specific in mind.”

I scratch my wrist. Jillian sacrificed her safety to join me on this journey. She became number four on the Most Wanted list. And I haven’t told her anything. I haven’t even told Link. “Cap wants us to learn more about a prophecy.”

He turns around, a candelabra in hand. “A prophecy about what?”

“A time when The Gifting will face extinction.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Cap thinks the prophecy is coming true.”

Jillian’s face turns gray. “Is there a way to stop it?”

This would be the part where I tell them all of it. The whole thing—about the One and me and how maybe I’m it. But if I tell them, Cap’s beliefs might become
their
beliefs. And I’m not sure I can handle anybody else placing their hope on my shoulders. If I’ve proven anything, it’s that I can’t save one person, let alone an entire race of people. Anytime I’ve tried, things go wrong. I trust someone I shouldn’t and lives are lost. I accuse someone who’s innocent and relationships are damaged. “I don’t know. I guess that’s what we’re supposed to find out.”