|| 19 ||

SOPHIE LIVED WITH HER AUNT in a tiny house just off the highway. Her red Honda was parked on the curb.

Ang pulled up behind Sophie’s car and squeezed my arm. “Good luck. Call me later and tell me how it goes. I can come and get you if you want.”

“Thanks,” I said, and I opened the car door. My stomach turned somersaults as I trudged up to the ripped screen door. I pressed my finger on the button beneath the porch light, and the doorbell chimed inside. I pulled open the screen door and rested it against my back.

The door creaked open a few inches, and Sophie’s face appeared in the crack. I wedged my foot between the door and the frame so she couldn’t close it on me.

“Oh good, glad I caught you.” I pushed the door against her, forcing her to retreat a step, and slipped into a living room that wasn’t much more than a pass-through from the door to the shotgun kitchen.

I’d expected protests, maybe even an arm shooting up to block my way, but she closed the door and turned to regard me. Unbrushed hair, bloodshot eyes. A tiny alarm pinged in my head. Sophie never looked this unkempt.

“We need to talk, Sophie.” I hoped my voice was a white flag. I pressed my arms against my sides, trying to hide my shaking hands. “We can’t let things go on like they’ve been.”

For a moment she just looked at me, unblinking. I braced myself for a barrage. But to my surprise, she nodded. Her shoulders stooped, she brushed past me, and I followed her. I couldn’t help checking the place out. The first time I’d tried to come here, I hadn’t even made it to the front door. And last time, I’d just stood outside.

She led me to a bedroom at the back of the house that was barely big enough for the queen-sized bed that occupied it. I dropped my bag on the floor next to the dresser. By the time I turned to her, she’d folded herself into a compact little package, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them, at the head of the bed.

“You can sit down,” she said, gesturing with the back of her hand.

I sat cross-legged, facing her, and drew a deep breath.

“We used to be friends,” I began. I swallowed, dreading what I had to ask. “You were one of my best friends, in fact. But I never really understood what happened in fifth grade or why you’ve been so intent on making me miserable for the past five years. Why did things change?”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t jump in.

“Sometimes people just grow apart, and I guess Angeline and I started to be friends around then,” I continued. My heart thumped uncomfortably. I felt like I was babbling. “But it’s like you’ve just been mean for no reason at all.”

Her eyes flashed with such anger I inhaled sharply.

“This is all because of you, Corinne.”

I blinked. “What’s because of me? I’m not trying to be dense, but I—”

“Oh, please!” she interrupted. She rolled her eyes. “You probably think you did a good thing because you’re so effing annoying that way. But you ruined my life.” Her words lashed at me.

“I . . . what?” My face scrunched with desperate confusion. The venom in her voice scared me. I was used to Mean Sophie, but this was something deeper.

Pain pulled at her face and crept through our link in uncomfortable pulses. She was on the verge of tears. Or maybe a screaming fit. I wanted to spring from the bed and escape. But if I didn’t push through the barrier now, I probably wouldn’t get another chance.

Don’t shut me out, I pressed. I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Please . . . just start at the beginning.

She clamped her teeth on her lips as a tear trailed down one cheek.

In fifth grade, at the slumber party for my birthday, you saw the . . . the bruises.

I wanted to protest. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about, but I fastened my lips together and waited.

That’s why my parents divorced. That’s why I’m here. You didn’t have to say anything, Corinne. I was just fine. Everything would have been okay!

My lips parted, and I gaped down at my hands as I started to put the pieces together. Shortly after Sophie’s slumber party, she’d moved here with her aunt. A year or so later, her parents divorced, and her dad moved to a different state. The rumor mill whispered that her mom suffered some kind of breakdown during all of this, so what had been a temporary living situation for Sophie became permanent. Her mom moved to Danton, and as far as I knew, she and Sophie never saw each other.

Bruises. . . . I stepped back through the years. . . .

When we were kids, Sophie and I had spent many summer days at the lake with other Tapestry kids. I’d noticed occasional bruises on Sophie’s arms and back, and once on her cheek. But she was a tomboy back then, way more fearless than most of the boys, and I’d always assumed she just hurt herself a lot. But they were. . . . All of those marks on her body over the years flashed through my mind’s eye like a horrible highlights reel.

The ache in the center of my chest expanded as my version of Sophie’s life rewrote itself.

I truly had no idea, I said. All this time, Sophie thought I’d tattled on her? And I was so oblivious, I didn’t even know the bruises weren’t from roughhousing with the boys.

But your mom was the one who started it. She reported it. Sophie’s anger was now mixed with deep sadness. Her voice was barely a whisper through our link.

She did? She must have seen something. It wasn’t because of me. I was just a stupid kid. I had no idea what was going on, didn’t even know that the bruises. . . . She never told me what was going on. I . . . I’m so sorry, Sophie.

Tears spilled down to my jaw and dropped onto my jeans with soft splats. Sophie hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face. Her shoulders shuddered every few seconds. I wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, comfort her somehow. But I didn’t think she wanted to be touched.

So instead, I cried with her.

Guilt and sadness circled my heart. How had I missed this vital fact of Sophie’s life? Tapestry was small. Rumors had surely circulated. How might that knowledge have changed things between me and Sophie? If Sophie and I had remained friends, maybe Angeline and I wouldn’t have found each other. Maybe Ang wouldn’t be a Guardian now.

How much of our lives were decided for us before we even understood what the consequences would be? How much of what was happening now could I influence? What if my best efforts simply weren’t enough . . . ?

After several minutes, I crawled to the edge of the bed and reached for my bag. Digging to the bottom, I found a small packet of tissues and pulled out a couple. I dabbed at my cheeks, trying to clean up smeared mascara.

Sophie raised her head, but kept her eyes downcast. She swiped her fingers across her cheeks and sniffled convulsively a couple of times. I handed her the packet of tissues, and she accepted it without looking up.

I gave her a few minutes to compose herself, and I tried to reconcile the new, rewritten Sophie in my mind with the one who sat before me. I suddenly understood why she and Brad made such a good match. They both had a certain spark. But they also shared something much more profound—they both were survivors.

I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been through, I said. No one should have to endure what you have. You are crazy-strong for surviving all of it, and maybe that’s why you’re a Guardian. And I’m glad you are because we need your strength. I remembered Aunt Dorothy’s warning about summer solstice and urgency pressed down on me like a loaded backpack. But . . . I need to know something. Where were you when we had the last drill at the meadow?

She bit her thumbnail for a second. I’ll tell you, but you have to promise it stays between us. She waited for me to nod. I was selling some things that . . . belonged to my mother. I . . . I wanted to get Brad a stereo for his car. I had to drive to a pawn shop in Danton, and I didn’t think it would take so long.

I wish you’d just said so, instead of letting us think you blew us off. We really need you. We can’t do it without you, Sophie.

She straightened, and for the first time ever, I appreciated and welcomed the fierceness in her eyes.

I know, she said. I’m ready, now.

* * *

I cried again later, when I recounted the conversation for Angeline over the phone.

“Are you going to tell Mason?” Ang asked, her voice teary.

“She said I could. She knows we’ll all keep it to ourselves. I think I probably should tell him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I feel like we shouldn’t be keeping secrets from each other. We have to be able to trust each other. It’s not even about keeping a secret or not keeping it. It’s really about knowing each other that well, don’t you think?”

“I agree. Maybe that’s exactly what we need, actually.”

“I’m gonna let you go,” Ang said. “I really feel like I need to say something to Sophie about all of this, and just, I don’t know, make sure she’s okay.”

“Okay. Text me later.”

I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes, trying to understand the new hollow sensation within me. But it was good. I’d been drained of some long-stored hurt that had occupied way too much valuable real estate. Now that it was gone, something better could fill that space.

When I woke up an hour later, I told Mason about Sophie. He was quiet for so long after I finished, I wondered for a second if I’d accidentally blocked him.

I never would have guessed, he said. I could tell he was struggling to control his emotions. A mix of surprise, sadness, and anger flowed through our link. That’s . . . It’s just . . . it’s so awful. I guess it explains a lot.

Yeah, I said.

Thanks for telling me.

Of course. She wanted you to know.

You going to see Bradley again soon?

This weekend for sure. Tomorrow Aunt Dorothy is going to take me to the meadow and help me choose plants to use on him.

You’ll figure out how to help him; I know you will.

I sighed. I’m afraid to imagine the alternative.

Then don’t. Mason sounded so much more confident than I felt, and I loved him for that. It will work.

That night, I listened for Mason’s soft knock on my window. It had been a difficult, emotional few days, and I wanted nothing more than to feel his comforting warmth. But he didn’t show, and sensing that he was occupied with his brother, I didn’t ask him to come.

When I slept, I entered the hypercosmic realm. I wasn’t sure if I did it deliberately or by accident, but when I opened my eyes and stood at the cove, Zane was already there.

“Nice night, eh, Pyxis?” His ice-blue eyes twinkled, and I knew he was happy to see me. A little shiver of anticipation shot through me.

I smiled and joined him near the bonfire ring, and we walked slowly along the water line.

“I want to learn more,” I said. “Teach me something.”

“What do you want to know?” His head was down, shadow partially hiding his face. We strolled as though neither of us had a thing in the world to worry about. If only I could bottle this moment and take it with me.

“I wouldn’t even know what to ask,” I said. “How about something that might help me protect my union?”

“Hm. How about if I show you how to recognize the threads of subconscious that belong to each of them? That way you could check on them just by entering the hypercosmic realm. Make sure the false Pyxis hasn’t influenced them.”

“You can do that? You’ve been holding out on me.” I smacked him lightly on the shoulder, and he laughed.

Slowing and then halting, he turned to me. He looked down at me, and whispered, “Here we go.”

Adrift in the cloud of gossamer strands, I reveled in the exhilaration of feeling them against my forearms and face. It was almost as if they were living creatures waving through an invisible sea.

“Okay, how do I know which one belongs to who?” I said.

“Close your eyes, and think on one of your union,” he said. I obeyed, picturing Mason. “Now think on what makes that person uniquely themselves. Not any one feature or quality, but an overall impression that defines that person.”

My mind crowded with impressions of Mason. . . . Sandy blonde hair, woody-spicy soap, t-shirt across his chest, deep bubbling laughter, the sound of his thoughts in my mind, Mason holding his brother’s hand when we were kids, walking to town for ice cream, the tree house in his backyard. . . . The impressions kept coming, and I allowed them to gather.

Open your eyes. Zane lifted my hand and then let it go. My hand moved as if propelled by an invisible force, reaching toward one fine strand that somehow stood out from the rest. It belongs to the one you hold in your mind.

How do I read whether he’s okay? I asked, allowing the strand to trail across my palm.

Zane squeezed my other hand. He paused, waiting for my eyes to meet his before he answered. Just as you would read him if he stood before you. Reach out with your mind.

I frowned. I got impressions and moods from Mason because he was always there in my mind. How was I supposed to do the same with a piece of sparkly dental floss?

Zane chuckled. Reach out as you do just before you say something to him through your link.

Ah, I think I know what you mean. There was a tiny preparatory moment before each link communication, almost as if my mind needed a split second to tune to the correct frequency.

I reached out, but stopped short of trying to make a connection. The strand vibrated against my skin, though there was no visible movement. The impression I received through the strand was calm, and unmistakably Mason.

“That’s his energetic fingerprint you’re feeling,” Zane said. “If you ever try this and what you get back feels off in any way, unlike what you’d expect the person to feel, you know something is wrong.”

I gazed down at the filament I held. “That’s remarkable. I take it this only works with someone I know fairly well?”

“That makes it easiest, yes. The less familiar you are with someone, the more effort it takes to reach the correct thread. And of course you may not find it at all.”

I let Mason’s thread slip from my hand. “Thank you for showing me.”

“My pleasure, Pyxis.”

I turned over on my bed, Zane’s resonant voice still in my ears.

I was grateful for a way to keep watch over my union, but didn’t believe it would be enough to keep them safe.