Seeing Light (The Seraphina Parrish Trilogy) Page 9

  When I open my eyes, we’re standing in the same exquisite ballroom he designed for Gabe’s gala. Hologram machines mounted around the room project the new holographic image, veiling the training room. Bright gold leaf carvings and paintings cover every surface. Rows and rows of columns and arcades run along a first and second floor. Red-and-white-striped curtains drape every wall, mimicking a circus tent. Beautiful holographic animals walk around: strutting peacocks, roaring lions, and graceful giraffes. In the corner sits a string quartet of women and men dressed as half human, half circus beast, performing the most romantic string music I’ve ever heard, so lovely it makes the small hairs on the back of my neck rise to attention.

  Hologram Turner twirls me, and I realize that I too have been transformed. A creamy lace ball gown billows around me. The fabric flirts with his legs and ankles, wrapping around them as we dance. Even Rhett Butler would have a hard time competing with him in his black cutaway tuxedo and his hair slicked back into a low ponytail.

  He smiles and it’s so devastatingly beautiful that I melt in his arms, but he holds me up, strong and firm, just the way a great dancing partner should as he spins me around for several songs. We laugh and smile in this fake beautiful world. If only it were real; if only he were real and my life were this lovely, this perfect. This is what I dream of.

  “You never told me what you thought about my design work.” He looks around the projected ballroom and then back into my eyes, eager for my opinion.

  “You know it’s amazing.”

  “The hologram design, it was always for you.”

  I drop my gaze. “Do you think you’ll ever stop flirting with me?” I look up from under my lashes.

  In response, he quickly twirls me and pulls me to his chest, breaking our dancing form. “Apparently not even death can stop me.” He smirks, steps away, and bows at the end of the song. Leaning over briefly, he kisses my hand at the knuckles. His soft lips linger there, brushing back and forth against my bare skin, warming just that spot with electricity, with love.

  He stands, lifting my hand to his cheek and drops another kiss on my palm before starting to dance again. And in this moment I understand, Turner will always find a way to me. He prepared for it by designing the strange little scorpion hologram machine, which scrabbles across the floor behind us to a new position. Dead or alive, there will be no keeping us apart. It’s impossible, and that makes me incredibly happy and sad all at once, because there can never truly be something between us.

  Someone clears their throat nearby. I look over to see Bishop, eyes downcast as he kicks at the ground with one foot.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he says without meeting my eyes. But it’s easy to see from his expression that he’s not. Knowing that he’s witnessed this intimate and special connection between his brother and me—even though his brother is now only a hologram—I feel ashamed. And more than a little sad myself.

  ::16::

  Gabe’s Glamour Palace

  “Hey,” I say to Bishop as I pull away from our dance. The ballroom fades, returning to the training room. Hologram Turner hesitates for a moment, looking between Bishop and me before dissipating into sparkling electrical dust. The scorpion Animate crawls across the floor and onto the top of my boot, then rests there.

  “Sorry. I guess you and he haven’t talked yet, huh?”

  “No, but I will make an effort later. Does he know about—”

  “No.” I cut him off, a little unsure if Hologram Turner can hear us in the Animate state or only as a hologram. I haven’t gotten that far with him yet, to tell him that his family has been exiled to Nocturna and that Bishop and I have broken up. “For right now, it’s better if he doesn’t know, I think. It’s too much,” I add.

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Bishop averts his eyes and shifts from foot to foot.

  “Let’s find Sam and see what she’s found.” I pick up the scorpion Animate from my shoe. The machine turns in my hand several times before I tuck him gently into my pocket.

  “I believe she’s in the attic.” Bishop squeezes his eyes shut for a second, the way he does when he’s trying to locate her with their mental connection.

  “Did you find any info about the prophecy?” I ask as we walk.

  “None. The Society has most certainly wiped history free of anything related, or has hidden it elsewhere.”

  “Probably.”

  We hike back through the gym, down the dark tunnel, and into the underground city of Olde Town, which sits directly beneath the Academy’s courtyard. A life-size puppet show is in progress across the plaza. Gabe sits at the top of the small, intricately-designed theater, acting as puppet master, pulling the strings of a real-life marionette. A petite ballet dancer in blush pink hangs on strings, spinning and stumbling at his bidding. To the students gathered and watching, this visual is truer than they will probably ever understand, and the irony of this fuels the hatred inside me. I will not let the Society define me; I will not be their puppet.

  The enclosed walls of the Victorian city buildings reverberate with the chords of a piano, which serves as musical accompaniment for the show. Students laugh and cheer for each slapstick joke as we make our way to the Lion’s Gate bridge.

  After all this time, the lion Animates still stand at attention when I cross the bridge—nothing has changed there. But today they’re a little more irritable than usual. Both snarl and retract as though they’re ready to attack me. Maybe they’ve sensed my slipping loyalties to the Society, or perhaps they always knew this day would come with their Animate intuition.

  Quickly, we load into the caged elevator and ride it to the top floor, the attic. Sam meets us as we exit, but this is a different part of the attic than I visited several weeks ago. Instead of a lopsided and unfinished dusty room, this area is finished off with elegant architectural details.

  “Act normal and follow my lead,” Sam whispers as an E.Y.E.S. security camera turns in our direction, surveying our moves.

  “Glad you guys finally arrived,” she says normally.

  Though the E.Y.E.S. can’t hear our conversation, I understand that Sam’s acting for the cameras. She’s trying to appear normal as a way to secretly find the transporter we saw in our vision, which will lead to the Member Archives.

  “Come on.” She beckons with a wave of her hand.

  We follow down the hall lined with tiny arched windows. Each looks out onto the obelisk in the courtyard. Outside, the wind blows through leafless branches, a dark and gray Chicago day. Normal life passes by in yellow taxis and pedestrians bundled up, walking home from work. They don’t know how lucky they are to be Normals, to go home to their normal families, and to have normal problems. My new life, though incredible from the outside, makes me look back at my lonely life with Ray and think it extraordinary for its utter simplicity.

  We reach the end of the hall, ending at a pair of ornately carved doors. Sam reaches up and grabs the brass knocker, letting it drop loudly three times.

  “Gabe,” she hollers. She reaches for the doorknob and twists but it’s locked. Obviously, Gabe’s not here; he’s in Olde Town performing the marionette show for the students. And I wonder again with anger what he’s done with my mother’s photo.

  Bishop moves around her. “Gabe.” He knocks again, continuing the show. He twists at the handle, surreptitiously breaking it with his Protector strength and pushes in as though we’ve been invited.

  Sam and I file behind, hiding what he’s done. We shut the door but it won’t latch, so Bishop drags over a small chair to hold the door closed.

  I take a deep breath and look around, nervous about being here. If we’re caught, how would we explain ourselves? What would our punishment be?

  Gabe’s apartment is an explosion of color and textures that I can only liken to a Las Vegas or Broadway show dressing room. Feather boas and sequined outfits hang over furniture. Everywhere. Shelves containing rows of colorful wigs sitting on busts line one wall, and on another, there�
��s a display of shoes, both men’s and women’s, neatly arranged for optimal display on glass shelving. Yes, there are the normal elements of an apartment: a kitchen, bath, and bedroom, but Gabe has made his home into more of an extravagant dressing area rather than a living space.

  “I think the Member Archives door is behind the dresser.” I point to the lavish art deco dressing table sitting against the wall. A large round mirror reflects the three of us, staring at it.

  “I sensed the same from the vision,” Sam concurs.

  “The same?” Bishop looks between us.

  “Long story.” I wave him off. I haven’t had the chance to tell him all the fun news of how I’m slowly coming into my Seeing abilities, like Terease suggested. And I’m sure Sam isn’t looking forward to that conversation with him either.

  “Um, okay.” He looks at Sam and they lock gazes for a few moments. I roll my eyes, knowing they’re talking mentally with each other. Thankfully, I can’t hear him myself—yet. Bishop grimaces and looks back at me with a frown.

  Avoiding the awkward conversation to come, I step forward and peek behind the mirror. “It’s attached to the wall. There must be a hidden trigger to open it.”

  I immediately scour every inch of the room, looking for that super special item that might open the secret door. In a movie it would be a novel on a bookcase, tipped forward, unlocking a secret passageway, but here there are no bookshelves, only an overabundance of Gabe-fabulous glamour.

  Sam sits at the dressing table, systematically moving the items resting there: a brush, a comb, makeup, and two small lamps, but nothing works. Nothing sets off a trigger to open a secret door.

  “I’ll meditate on this to see the life path.” She holds up a perfume bottle. “Maybe it will reveal the door.”

  At my nod of encouragement, she settles back into the chair, cupping the bottle in her palms. Falling easily into a meditative state, her body relaxes and the bottle hovers above her hands. Light illuminates the crystal exterior, shooting bright prisms around the room, but it isn’t long before she emerges, eyes wide and alert. She places the relic on the dressing table’s surface and says one word, “Marilyn.”

  “What Marilyn?” I ask.

  “The Marilyn.” She points to a framed black-and-white photo hanging on the wall. Platinum-blonde Marilyn Monroe kisses Gabe’s cheek at a dinner party. Both are dressed to the nines in gorgeous attire from the 1950s as balloons and confetti flutter around them.

  I stand before it, taking the image in. Oh, how lucky Wanderers are; if only we could play nice all the time. I grab the frame and begin to pull it off the wall, but of course it doesn’t budge. I try to turn it, to open it like a medicine cabinet, but nothing happens.

  “It’s this, it has to be.” Sam stands.

  “Let me try.” Bishop pushes past us and places his hands at the edges of the gold frame and pushes. It sinks into the wall, activating a series of cranking noises, which immediately make me think that the room is rigged with booby traps, Indiana Jones style, and we should run. But while I’m waiting for arrows to skewer us, the only thing that happens, thankfully, is that the dressing table pivots slightly away from the wall, revealing an opening.

  As we step forward to inspect the opening, the elevator door in the hallway outside clanks open and shut. Collectively, we look at each other, eyes wide in horror. Someone is on this floor. Footsteps walk this way, becoming louder as they close in on our location.

  “Hurry.” Bishop ushers Sam and me through the secret door and into a dimly lit corridor. He shuts the dressing table behind us, and a lock clicks shut.

  “My stars! What’s happened here?” The words are muffled, but I can still make out Gabe’s voice and anticipate his actions as he pushes through his broken front door.

  We’re not safe. He may check the secret passageway. I visually sweep the hallways that lead in many directions and the walls, looking for E.Y.E.S. Thankfully there are none.

  I nudge Sam and Bishop, who have ears pressed to the wall, listening. I jerk my head twice, signaling quietly that we must leave. They nod and follow me around the corner. Just in time, each of us presses back against the wall as the trigger activates. Above us, a grouping of pulleys and levers crank and grind, and then I hear the door to the passageway creak open.

  I imagine Gabe popping his butter-colored curls through the secret door, peeking inside. I hold one finger to my lips and look back at Bishop and Sam.

  Gabe steps into the hidden hallway and shuts the door behind him. His footsteps slide over the many years of dust and dirt and then he walks quickly in the opposite direction, away from where we’re hidden. I peek my head around the corner only to see him disappear, descending a set of stairs.

  We creep back to one of two transporter doors, which are directly across from Gabe’s apartment.

  “Do you know where the passageway leads?” Sam whispers, pointing after Gabe.

  “No,” I whisper back. “But considering all the secrets that the Society has, this one doesn’t surprise me. There’s probably a huge network of hidden passageways. They could lead anywhere.”

  Sam removes the cord from around her neck and slips the key in the transporter’s door lock. It opens easily, revealing the same room we saw in our vision. We quickly step inside, shutting the door behind us. I eye the dials on the wall, and then look over my shoulder. “You guys should strap in.”

  Bishop and Sam glance around and pull down seats mounted to the wall, then strap themselves in with both a waist belt and chest harness as I set the dials to my mom’s birthday.

  “How do you know what numbers to pick?” Sam asks as the machine starts to count down.

  “The numbers Gabe used to find my storage unit make up my birthday. So if I choose my mom’s birthday, I hope it will lead me to her unit.”

  With the digital clock set, I jump into my own seat and quickly strap in. By the time I’m secure, the room jumps, buzzes, and rumbles with electricity.

  As the red digital numbers count down, the box jolts erratically. Blue electrical currents flutter and pop, igniting a wild display of magical energy.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The box drops in a free fall, and now that I have a real body, my stomach immediately races up through my chest, throat, head, and presses into the top of my skull. If this afternoon’s lunch doesn’t make a reappearance, it will be a miracle.

  I look down to the floor and see that it’s an open mesh grate, which explains the wind rushing up past our faces. It blows my hair away and rushes into my eyes, making them water. There’s nothing below, only blackness for which I’m thankful, because if I were to have some real perception of how far and fast we’re really falling, I may pass out.

  Bishop’s complexion turns green, and Sam’s eyes roll back into her head. Stiff with fright, both grasp the handlebars at their sides, gripping them for dear life. When I think we can’t take any more, the box grinds to a sudden and jerky halt, landing with a resounding thump. With the air knocked out of me, I allow my heart rate to decelerate, muscles relax, and take comfort in the stable ground.

  “Whose idea was this, anyway?” I ask to lighten the mood.

  “I know you hated every minute,” Sam chirps and shrugs out of her harness.

  “No, I think we should do it again,” Bishop says sarcastically with a smirk.

  “I think we will, maybe on the way back,” I remind them.

  “Blast, I forgot about that.” He cringes and drops his head between his knees, breathing heavily. When he stands back up, I pat him on the back as we step out the door and into a space much different than I anticipated.

  “Um, Sera?” Sam looks at me in question.

  “I just assumed we’d travel to the same place, but that’s stupid, I guess. We did just travel in a transporter.” I look back at the box. “I suppose we could be anywhere right now.” Underground in the Antarctic, on another pla
net, or in an alternate universe.

  “Well, what we’re looking for must be here, so we should get going,” Bishop says as he climbs out of the transporter.

  ::17::

  The Member Archives

  This space is not like the other; it’s not a cavern with beautiful earthly formations or a long-lost train station. It’s a jail. A real one with sturdy iron cell doors, but old, dark, wet, scary, and abandoned.

  Each cell serves as a storage unit for a Wanderer. They must not be as important here because items are stored open to the elements. Water seeps in through the faulty structure and puddles at our feet. A chilled breeze rushes by, and I shiver in my school cardigan.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone comes here.” Sam finds a lantern and lights it.

  “If I had to guess, these storage archives belong to the outlawed and the dead—like my mom.” I turn to them with a grim look.

  “She’s not an outlaw to the other side,” Sam offers helpfully.

  I nod, still a little sad that her belongings would be treated any different from my own, as if they’re somehow not as important.

  “Let’s start there.” Bishop waves his hand to the nearest cell.

  “These aren’t labeled as well as the others.” I look for some sense of whom the cell belongs to, but there’s no nice framed number here.

  Sam bends down and squints. “Here, look close. Numbers are scratched into the lock panel.”

  We separate, checking each cell one by one, one floor at a time, but it’s the third floor and feels like a million cells later before we find the correct one.

  “It’s here!”

  Bishop and Sam run to my side.

  “But it’s locked.”

  Bishop squeezes his face between the bars, peeking inside. “And empty.”